


(Untitled) Masterpiece

by fairytalehearts



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Artists, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, F/M, In Your Eyes?, Strangers to Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-02
Updated: 2017-07-23
Packaged: 2018-11-07 23:19:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 23,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11069151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fairytalehearts/pseuds/fairytalehearts
Summary: He ignited a passion inside of her that she didn’t think she had. And when he proposed it was romantical and fantastical and so utterly beautiful. His creative soul called to her in the strangest ways. His career was really getting off the ground, and once he had the actual model of his angel, they were happy.





	1. Art. His Story

**Author's Note:**

> There is one steamy scene around chapter five but i figured the rating was better safe than sorry.

_Oliver_

 

If anyone were to ask Oliver where he got his inspiration from, he wouldn't be able to tell them. He could however tell them _when._

One day between soccer practice and baseball, he was walking past an old decrepit store front. His parents hadn’t bothered picking him up, so he walked the four blocks between the two fields and stop for dinner on his own.

When he saw the old woman who owned the art shop, she was painting in the inside of the display window, a campsite with a fire pit, probably for summer.  Describing how Oliver felt while watching her paint was hard. While he appreciated her skill, the fire was blue. It bothered him. It bothered him so much he decided right then and there to skip baseball and he marched right up to the woman and told her she needed to make the fire red.

“Kid, it’s my fire. I can make it cerulean if I want.” The woman chuckled, not even looking up from her window display.

Oliver wasn’t exactly convinced. “Is cerulean another word for blue?”

“For an artist, kid, you sure don’t know colors.”

“I’m not an artist. I’m ten.”

The woman, who later introduced herself as ‘Kendra’ told him otherwise. Not many “young men” stopped by her window or had the “audacity” to comment on its coloring. Apparently, she was low on red paint and didn’t want to waste it on the window when she might have a customer.

Which Oliver found ridiculous.  It was her window. It should be right. She should want it to be right.

“Art isn’t about perfection, Oliver. It’s about creativity and appreciation and emotion and the beauty of life.”

Oliver didn’t think he had any of those things in his life. Kendra walked him around the shop and they talked- not that he didn’t talk to his parents or Tommy about things, but they talked about colors and the soul and how she could tell that they would be important in each other’s lives.

“What does that mean?”

Kendra made him a ham sandwich (his favorite) and pulled out some paper from a long roll behind the counter, “Draw me something.”

He’d never used anything but crayons and markers, but she unrolled a kit that had all different kinds of drawing utensils. He thought maybe the oil crayons, but he picked a dull pencil out of the roll and started sketching.

Lines were easy, but then he thought he should try shading things and nothing really made any sense until he’d sharpened the pencil four or five times and realized he was drawing a face.

It was a little girl- probably his little sister’s age, but she had glasses that were too big for her face and braided pigtails. For some reason he knew it was hot and it was afternoon time. In the picture, it looked like she was looking at him. Waiting. He got the distinct impression she was waiting for something.

“Who is that? A girl from school? Your sister? Her likeness is incredible, you have a true eye for art, Oliver.”

He probably shouldn’t have picked up the paper with his smudged hands, but he did anyway, rolling it up before shoving it into his backpack.  “I don’t know. I better be going. Can I come back tomorrow?”

“Oliver, you can do whatever you want to do. I’ll be here.  Come around lunch time.”

Kendra packed him a bag with some pencils and some paper, and told him that when he was famous artist he would pay her back one day. Oliver highly doubted that, but he promised he would. Heading home, Oliver pulled his baseball cap down on his forehead and by the time he got to end of the driveway his mother was running out of the house, distraught.

“We didn’t know where you were!”  
  
“I never know where you are. I’m fine.” Oliver shrugged.  “I’m going to go to my room now.”

Shrugging out of his mother’s embrace, he entered the house, stopping to kiss Thea on the forehead while she watched TV. His father was there with her, but didn’t seem to phased at his absence.

“It’s summer, Moira. Boys need to go exploring sometimes. I told you that putting him in sports shouldn’t be daycare.”

Oliver agreed.

Running upstairs to his bedroom, he carefully grabbed a piece of paper and focused on drawing something besides the little girl. Twenty minutes later he looked down at his picture and it was a bunch of lines and circles. It was nothing.

“Maybe I’m not an artist after all.” Oliver grumbled to himself.

Still he went to the Art Store the next day and had lunch with Kendra. He didn’t understand why she was being so nice to him, but she said she reminded him of a son they had lost a long time ago and he had “the gift”.

He went back every day all summer and when he got to high school he took art classes instead of Power Volleyball. When he got accepted into art school he looked at that first drawing he did, the lines and the circles and looked back fondly. There was good shading and the circles were near perfect for an untrained ten-year-old. He’d been hanging out at Kendra’s since he was a child, usually waiting for Tommy to get done with baseball practice.

_“Smoak_ _Technologies President, Noah Kutter is proud to present his newest computer chip.”_

Kendra turned off the TV tears in her eyes.

“What’s wrong?”

“I’m leaving, Oliver. You’re a grown man and its time that we move on. You’re moving to Rhode Island in the fall. I’m so proud of you. You will struggle and my heart can barely take it, but I know I’m needed elsewhere.”

Oliver hugged her and tried to forget her sad confession. She was just getting emotional over nothing. When he came back the next day she was gone.

**

_Felicity_

Felicity was late. Well, she was almost always late, but today she’d made a right mess of herself while she ran towards work, her shoes, tablet and purse haphazardly stacked together while she tried to eat the bagel off the top of the pile. Running. Walking. Eating. She could do it all, if only in her mind-

The traffic was insane near her office. Some artist was doing a live art show at  the building across the plaza and parking was _full_. It was never _full._ So she had to park down the street six blocks and then she may have gotten distracted at the bagel cart because there were definitely not that many flavors of cream cheese in the tiny cart and then the bagel just looked so good. So she was even LATER than she wanted to be.

Whatever the deal was, this guy was just letting people watch him spray paint the side of the building for free. Apparently, the broke artist stereotype was real. There were at least seven tip jars strewn on the ground and he was probably trending on Twitter. But, whatever he was or was not doing was working.

Narrowly missing a giant puddle, Felicity thanked her lucky stars before she strained her neck to see what the artist was painting. The artist was shirtless, some sort of face mask over his face while he worked. It was weird, everyone was staring at her crazy hair yet no one was offering to help her. People from her own company. When she got back to the office she was taking back her executive parking spot. Sorry Ethel from accounting with the bad knee-

“You’ve never seen a working woman before?!” Felicity snapped taking a defiant bite of her bagel.

“No it’s not that, Ms. Smoak- it’s you.”

Felicity turned to the old brownstone the artist had bought and promptly dropped all of her things into the puddle. He was frantically spraying a stencil that was her- half naked, with wings and short brown hair.

But it was her, sans glasses. And it was- beautiful in a very creepy way. Because hello, even though she owned a tech company, there were no pictures of her anywhere. She had teams of people, some of them she considered _friends_ working diligently on potential PR disasters. Yet, the likeness was uncanny, down to that weird dimple on her chin. Which really shouldn’t be possible with spray paint. She must have stood there awhile because the crowd was losing interest and she was frozen.

Her assistant, Kendra, ran over, took one look at her tablet- “Ms. Smoak, we were worried, we know how you get without your coffee, Cisco had me turn on your GPS-” and then at the giant- mural. “Oh, shit. This wasn’t supposed to happen.”

“Kendra, I am going to drink this coffee, I am going to put my shoes back on and then I want you to get the lawyers on the phone to take that down. Then I want Cisco, Winn and Curtis to figure out which one of them dropped the ball on this. Um, please. Before the world sees the weird freckle I have on my hip.”

Felicity took the coffee out of Kendra’s hands and put her heels back on, “Oh and get me a new tablet. Please? I’ll be back.”

Kendra put an arm out to stop her, but Felicity had already made up her mind. She was going over there to give this artist a piece of her mind.

“Ms. Smoak! _Felicity_!”

But she had already crossed the plaza and then it all happened so quickly. She got up the stairs, the crowd gasping as she unplugged the paint gun he was using. The man removed his mask and dark eyes met her own. When she finally realized the gravity of her situation, she may have panicked. She was in a weird headspace that was the only thing that could possibly explain her erratic behavior. But it was too late she was there and she was going to die frozen in fear.

“Miss, are you alright?”

“I’m- I’m afraid of heights.”

The actual gravity of the situation came much much later when the very nice artist had helped her down the ladder and got her some water.

Which she promptly threw in his face.

Felicity wasn’t sure if she believed in soulmates or meet cute but she had to admit that her own little Romcom meeting with the man who stole her likeness and was serendipitous or fortuitous something-ous.

Felicity went back to the office with a phone number on her phone and a promise that the angel on the side of his new studio wouldn’t be so scantily clad. And she hadn’t dated anyone in a while, it would be fun. Easy breezy.

He ignited a passion inside of her that she didn’t think she had. And when he proposed it was romantical and fantastical and so utterly beautiful. His creative soul called to her in the strangest ways. His career was really getting off the ground, and once he had the actual model of his angel, they were happy. New condo, new cars, wedding planner.

Until six months later when that asshole cheated on her with her former friend/lawyer. And then she found out he was stealing from her _charity foundation._

She never wanted the name Cooper Seldon spoken in her presence again.


	2. Creativity takes Courage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His palms were sweating; his face was sweating he’d never been this nervous in his life. Ever. He didn’t get nervous especially over things he’d planned this well. Something was wrong with his emotions lately it wasn’t making any sense. Maybe he really was crazy.

_Oliver_

Oliver looked at the email in front of him for the tenth time.

He hoped was just reading it wrong, but his latest lawsuit had been deemed ‘inconclusive’. He had the evidence. He had the opportunity. But Cooper’s wife had better lawyers.

“This is complete and utter bullshit.” Oliver punched the very expensive drafting table Thea got him for Christmas and wasn’t satisfied until it cracked in half. Cooper had copied his work for so long, he could even draw The Muse in front of a judge to prove he could do it. Oliver wasn’t arguing that Cooper couldn’t draw, he was arguing that he STOLE HIS IDEA and made MILLIONS.

And the paintings were selling well enough and that it made him even madder. For years he’d been drawing The Muse and no one gave a fuck.

Cooper spray paints her on the side of a building and he’s the best artist since Monet.

And Oliver was done-  done with lawsuits, done with art, done with everything. He went to one of the most prestigious Art Schools in the country and he couldn’t even get a heavily discounted commission for charity. If he heard one more client muter the words, “This is an excellent copy of the ‘Angel on the Building’” he was going to go crazy. Kendra said he was going to struggle and as weird as it sounded she was right.

But he was a Queen. He obsessed and planned and it nearly drove him insane but he came up with probably the world’s worst plan: he was going to steal them back.

Every single one of them. Starting with Cooper’s studio in Seattle. He’d watched enough action movies to half-ass a plan and getting the blueprints to the studio was easy enough- it was a public building in the 80s. He had an exit plan, he had a way in and he spent the better part of a week casing the place.

Cooper did not go to the studio once the whole time he’d been outside. He was probably too busy driving his sports car or drawing Katy Perry for her new album cover. There were rumors that RISD was going to have him teach.

Oliver hoped that meant luck was on his side- there was no way an artist who was selling million dollar paintings he stole wasn’t in the studio. Unless he’d already churned out enough paintings to keep the cash flow coming. He didn’t even need the money- he married some rich woman with connections. Oliver would sneak in, get the paintings and leave- no one the wiser.

Pulling the van up to the loading dock, he pulled the baseball cap over his forehead and headed inside.

His palms were sweating; his face was sweating he’d never been this nervous in his life. Ever. He didn’t get nervous especially over things he’d planned this well. Something was wrong with his emotions lately it wasn’t making any sense. Maybe he really was crazy.

Rolling the garbage cart towards the storage area he turned the first corner and plowed right into someone else in a similar getup. Black ski mask, blonde hair in a ponytail, tight black leggings that made him want to take a longer look if she turned around.

“AHCK!” She screeched, quickly clamping her hand over her mouth to keep herself quiet.

“What are you doing here?!” The woman asked once she got herself under control. “Well, obviously you’re here to steal something. So as long as you’re not here for the computers, you can go about your business and I’ll go about mine.”

“Why would you want the computers?” Taking an Artist’s computer was pointless. He didn’t have any digital mediums and photographs of his originals were not going to sell for much.

“This asshole stole money from me and I need to ruin him. I assume you’re here for the art?”

Oliver nodded and headed for door he already taped the lock down with that afternoon.

“You taped the lock? How old are you? Ten?”

Oliver rolled his eyes at his new co-conspirator, “It worked didn’t it?”

There was no way he was leaving the building with the paintings. He’d tried to find a way to save them all but the easiest thing to do was _not_ leave with them. They would get destroyed for the better good. Then he’d go back to his shitty depressed artist’s life knowing The Muse was protected.

Maybe that was the only thing he had left in his life: a fictional woman. And prison. He was definitely going to have prison if things went wrong today. Opening a storage closet, he expected half-open tubes of paint, blank canvases- something.

There was one sketchbook- which looked vaguely familiar to one he’d lost in art school, and an unopened jar of pigment. The place was immaculate, not one paint droplet, no smears, nothing to let you know an artist worked here. It was more like a top secret lab at a drug company.

The woman had gone straight for his laptop which was plugged into the wall opposite from him. He tried to not look up to see what she was doing but his gaze kept drifting up. It was ridiculous, the two of them robbing Cooper at the same time.

Maybe the prick really did deserve it.

Finally finding the covered canvases, he piled them all into the garbage cart and headed for his exit.

“Good luck with- that.”

“You too.”

Oliver gripped her forearm, which was supposed to be a sign of support or comradery, but instead he had the strangest shockwave of relief flood through his system. Maybe not relief but acknowledgement. They were going to be fine.

He made his way to the dumpster out back, and then back to his truck, waiting with a weeks’ worth of garbage and cups filled with paint thinner to cover the top of it all.

Mission completed he drove back up to his hotel in Portland and finished his trip to visit his sister.

**

_Felicity_

Felicity could picture it so clearly: _ARTIST COOPER SELDON: EXPOSED_

Her marriage to Cooper had gone downhill the second it started really.  Everything between them suddenly had to be newer, better, faster. The mansion she’d been living in was suddenly too small.  The cars, the vacations.

He was busy working.  She was busy working. Things like charity events and art openings got pushed to the side. She would admit that work probably took over both of their lives at one point. And she was okay with the arrangement.

Until her mother died.

Her little sister, Jana, had channeled her grief into starting a foundation for their mother. Sara and Laurel helped out whenever they could, but they had to keep money going and Felicity was all too willing to help her sister out. Until she found out the monthly checks she had been sending her had been _stolen_ by Cooper. Which she found out _after_ she realized he was cheating on her. The icing on the cake of the shitty summer she’d been having.

She didn’t even know what the money was for. It’s not like he needed it.  They had enough money between the both of them. But Cooper had gone to Accounting, picked up the check and said he was hand delivering it to the Smoak Foundation.

Twelve eye witness accounts, camera footage and he still had the audacity to deny it. He even went to lunch with Jana and he played the role of the sympathetic brother-in-law to a “T”. Then he went straight to the bank. Another four eye witness accounts.

Her own employees were nothing but loyal and Washington Trust Bank was always extra vigilant when it came to Smoak transactions. Probably because they liked the money from a multibillion dollar company not going to their competitors, but Felicity didn’t care about that.

She cared about her baby sister crying because of financial problems. Covering the rent for the foundation with her _scholarship_ money. Their lives sucked enough, but Jana was practically homeless, eating leftovers from the Chinese food place across the street. And she- she was the best of all of them. She cared about her mother’s memory.

Felicity quickly discovered she did not care much for Cooper any more. Hence the divorce. But that wasn’t enough to quell the fire of hatred burning in her gut.

Which led to her crazy revenge plot. It was crazy. Though it wasn’t her fault that Cooper never changed a password for anything and slipping in through a side window was easy enough. His computer wasn’t connected to the internet, unfortunately, so she had to hack it old school.

Oblivious to the world around her, she turned the corner next to Cooper’s studio and ran straight into someone else.

He was tall and had a huge garbage cart. And while most people in this situation would be a little _worried_ that someone else was there, she didn’t feel one shred of anxiety. Which in turn caused her anxiety. She was good about talking herself into things apparently, anxiety and panic were at the top of the list.

“What are you doing here?! Well obviously you’re here to steal something. So as long as you’re not here for the computers, you go about your business and I’ll go about mine.”

It was ridiculous, the two of them in ski masks robbing Cooper at the same time. He, however, was blocking the hallway towards the studio with his giant cart.

“Why would you want the computers?”

Everyone had evidence of something on the computer and with a few key strokes he would be done for. Just because he was an Artist didn’t exclude him from the rest of the human race.Especially if there were two people pissed off enough for them to steal from him.

“This asshole stole money from me and I need to ruin him. I assume you’re here for the art?”

The man nodded and headed for door outside the studio. She would need to force her way past the security, but she was sure it was something she could hack- until the other thief just opened the door. Examining the handiwork, he had apparently taped the lock shut earlier in the day.

“You taped the lock? How old are you? Ten?” Felicity scrunched up her nose, holding the door for him and his cart.

“It worked didn’t it?”

She supposed it did.

Heading straight for his laptop, she logged in and started making copies of everything. The man was looking for the portraits of her. There wasn’t that much stuff in the studio, which probably was a sign of something else. Maybe Cooper was stealing designs or paint colors or was secretly a smuggler. That would explain the money.

The thief. The _other_ thief was looking at her. She couldn’t exactly read his face but their eyes met over the top of Cooper’s monitor and she felt- something. A spark maybe? She rarely felt sparks for anything after her mother died.

Work. Work. Plot Revenge. Think about taking an extended vacation somewhere cold. Work.

That was her life now. In fact, this was the most fun she’d had in a long time. It would be nice if she could share this with her strange bedfellow. She really wanted to tell him. But if he was an art thief then maybe it was better left unsaid. In case she wasn’t _already_ the prime suspect, her trademark babbling would give her away in case they did manage to grab him.

Once she actually got to his computer it would be easy to ruin him-

But instead of a huge bank account in the Caymans or Switzerland, there were receipts of payments. Cooper was _broke_. He had been draining his bank account regularly for the past year.  The transactions were all dated and had picture files to go along with them.

She was no expert on this sort of thing but it looked like he was getting blackmailed over some paintings by someone who’s initials were VS. Filing that in her mental reserves, she typed faster making sure she had a complete copy and wipe of his hard drive. Work successfully done she turned to leave when the man suddenly in front of her again. It was like static electricity but not as sharp- a familiar feeling.

“Good luck with- that.”

“You too.”

His hand stopped on her arm and she gasped. The feeling got stronger and warmed her body down to her toes. But then he was gone.

She went back to the internet café down the street and resumed eating her donut. Uploading the files into the dark web was easy enough and soon her ex-husband will be ruined. And maybe dead because if the payments stopped he stopped breathing.

Which was okay with her for some strange reason. It was like she was mad enough for two people. She clicked though her emails idly, not really paying attention to anything except-

_@DailyLois: Smoak Tech CEO Noah Kutter Resigns! More info to come!_

Her phone was ringing off the hook. The CFO, The COO, everyone wanted a quote or advice or anything. There was no succession plan. No contingency.

_Frack._

**

_Oliver_

Usually Oliver was fine. Artists struggled all the time, but around this time of year he couldn’t take it. Summer was supposed to be a happy time in Star City, but he was just so miserable and broke that he’d finally was ready to take his father’s job offer in his marketing department.

Grabbing the only suit out of his closet, he went to Queen Consolidated and accepted the job offer, and took the bonus straight to the bank. He needed groceries and new clothes and to lock up his rooftop studio and never look back.

He was almost angry enough to let Thea go shopping for him, but she and Tommy were in France checking out Rebecca’s newest vineyard. Speaking of wine, Oliver made a mental note to get a few bottles of the good stuff with his sellout money.

Driving to the grocery store in the suit that didn’t fit him correctly anymore, he got things like lettuce and salad dressing and ice cream. He really wanted Mint Chocolate Chip. Turning the cart a little too sharply, he crashed right into someone, making them drop their frozen chicken nuggets.

Oliver bolted down to grab them and held them out, “I’m so sorry- Kendra?”

Kendra looked exactly the same. Same freckles across her face, same curly hair. Young. Smiling. The woman Kendra was with looked between the two of them confused. How did you explain their relationship? He had been a _kid_ but she looked _exactly the same_ as fifteen years ago. He’d thought it was weird that she hadn't seemed to age by the time  he graduated, but he had talked himself into thinking it was good genes.

Kendra made some bullshit excuse about Carter being his roommate in college to her friend. Which was not true, at all, and despite Kendra’s claims of being married, Oliver never met the man.

 “Oliver, this is my friend Barbara. We’re in kickboxing together. We just ran into each other, how fascinating.”

Barbara gave him a little wave before explaining to Kendra that she had to leave and they’d catch up next week. Waiting until the other woman was sufficiently away, he grabbed her arm and tried to keep his panic under control.

“I look _older_ than you! What is going ON?”

Kendra put her arm around him, the way she had when he was younger and he couldn’t decide if he was angry or hurt that she hadn’t reached out sooner. And here he was eating up everything she was saying while checking out his groceries. He hadn’t even grabbed the ice cream he wanted, but somehow it was on the conveyor belt when the cashier was ringing him up.

The only thing Kendra was getting was a bottle of cheap Chardonnay and _Tech News Weekly_.

Oliver motioned for her to add them to his purchases and she smiled up at him in thanks.

Kendra pushed the cart out to the parking lot, jumping on it to ride to his car. He liked to park far away from the building and she sailed right towards his black Jeep like she knew it was there. Loading their groceries into the car, she talked about Carter’s new job as a mechanic and how she was so happy to see Oliver.

She buckled herself into the passenger seat and Oliver begrudgingly drove her to his loft where she helped put away groceries before grabbing the ice cream and two spoons. Pulling up a stool next to her, he talked about his little sister and his parents. To her credit, she didn’t ask about his art once.

 “Have you ever looked for her? The woman you paint?” Kendra asked gently, putting her hand on his arm. Clenching his jaw, he relaxed ever so slightly but that was a misdirection.

Oliver didn’t have the patience for this whole conversation, “What does that have anything to do with the fact that you DON’T AGE?”

“It has everything to do with it. Also, maybe try her hair blonde next time.”

That didn’t answer any of his questions and he was down half a container of Mint Chip. He was just supposed to accept that his mentor, a woman he admired and respected, was immortal or something. That she was in his life for a ‘reason’. The reason was anyone’s guess and Oliver was not in the mood to figure it out.

She left and he boarded up his studio in a wine-drunk rage.  Methodically organizing his paints had been his favorite part about his studio and he taped them all shut, and mentally prepared himself for working for his father.

His mental preparations weren’t enough. He hated it. He was so used to working alone that, now, when he had to run his ideas past his team or the board, or anyone really, he couldn’t take it. He hated the small talk, shaking hands with people. He was a creator of work, not a printer you turned on and off.

One month into his new job, Oliver gave in and unlocked his studio and painted a different skyline from a different place. Getting away was his goal and it worked. The cathartic smells of paint and the sound of the brush hitting canvas were home to him. Proud of his painting, he brought it into work and he’d look up at it when he wanted to strangle one of the vendors. He especially hated meeting with Vendors. 

He didn’t even listen to them half the time. He was the VP of Marketing. He wasn’t the one who decided how big the QC logo was or the font, or anything of substance. He mainly helped OTHERS design his ideas for in-company materials. Their new consumer product was a freaking water filtration system for desert climates. He just slapped the Queen logo on the side and called it a day.

Why was he meeting a metal vendor? It made no sense whatsoever. But his father was still trying to groom him to take over the company since Thea was currently travelling the globe as a model.

 “That’s quite remarkable. The likeness is undeniable.”

Oliver didn’t understand what the client was talking about but he signed the paperwork for him anyway.

“That’s the view from the Smoak Technologies Building, Downtown Seattle. Mr. Kutter- sorry Ms. Smoak, needs lots of metals for all those tiny computer-things she makes. They’re an even bigger client than QC, no offense or anything, Mr. Queen.” 

Oliver had definitely never been in the Smoak Technologies building. Let alone the top floor.

Excited to be actually having a conversation, the client, Bill or Brad, dug into his briefcase and handed him a photograph. There was a bright yellow post it note from his secretary reminding him to express his condolences to Ms. Smoak on the anniversary.

Moving the note, the card had a picture of The Muse in front of the window from his painting when she was younger, if any of his childhood drawings were accurate. _Happy Holidays from Smoak Technologies._

“Her mother died- I think two years ago now. The first day of summer, she was hit by a drunk driver. Her little sister was in the car. Very tragic, the poor girl almost died too. One of their body guards died saving her. Her ex-husband up and quit the company, leaving Felicity in charge. And that husband of hers-” Bill or Brad shook his head before collecting the contract and stuffing it into his bag. Oliver had no idea who this ex-husband was, but he nodded in agreement anyway.

The vendor left his office and Oliver did what any sane person did: He made every effort not to Google anything about his mysterious mystery woman. It was crazy. It was one thing when The Muse was fictional, she was a good character reference to paint. But if she was real, he’d been drawing this poor woman’s face for _years_. The more he thought about her the crazier he seemed.

He could finally forget all about The Muse and move on with his life. He could create different kinds of art and keep the past in the past. A new leaf, a new outlook on life. Leaving his resignation notice on his desk, he left all of the things there except for his skyline painting. That was the only thing worth keeping.

His studio smelled _horrible_ \- he was sure something had _died_ in there, but he aired the place out, despite the winter cold and started painting blue swirls that turned into a frozen ocean with a lighthouse. He would normally sneak The Muse in there somewhere but the landscape didn’t need it.

He got so distracted, lost in blue depths, that he realized that he was going to be late to the mediation-


	3. To be an artist is to believe in life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There was a depth to the colors, a vibrancy to her eyes. Cooper was good at painting her, but this was just- beautiful. Next level.

Sliding down into her seat, Felicity had hoped the mediator hadn’t seen her come in late.

Apparently, she had. “Ms. Smoak, are you aware of why you are at this court-mandated mediation?”

“Because my ex-husband is a cheater and a liar and I may have tried to discredit his career and ruin him digitally. Not that it could be proved in a court of law, so clearly it did NOT happen.  So now I’m at mediation.” Felicity looked around the room at the other people there, none of them her ex-husband. “Wait. Who are these other people?”

How many wives did this asshole have?   Did he have one in every state and now they were all here for a great big divorce party?  But there were men here too.  Just Felicity's luck she'd stumbled upon the first Bi-sexual Polygamist Con-artist... Ha artist, get it?   See what she did there?

Damn, now the asshole had stolen her sanity too.

Well, if he really was a bisexual polygamous Con-artist, there were at least ten people in the room. Having that many secret wives would be too confusing. Felicity made a mental note to watch less TV. And to pay more attention to the Mediator, who was hopefully going to help her with Cooper’s lawyers.

The door creaked open and a man slid into a chair next to hers, apologizing to the Mediator at the end of the conference room. “-I’m so sorry I’m late,” the new man muttered.

There were at least ten people in the room, eleven with the new one. She had no clue who any of them were.

The Mediator cleared her throat before proceeding. “While you were _allegedly_ ruining him digitally, the files you may or may not have released indicated that your ex-husband was illegally copying other people’s work and selling it as his own.”

The Mediator, her name was West-Something walked across the front of the room and turned on the projector. An image of a man standing next to the picture Cooper called _Angel of My Dreams_ on canvas. Except while Cooper’s version had her hair significantly darker and shorter (and practically naked), this one had her hair longer, glasses and she was looking up at the viewer like she had just laughed so hard she was going to puke. She’d had that look many times and the likeness was undeniable.

There was a depth to the colors, a vibrancy to her eyes. Cooper was good at painting her, but this was just- beautiful. Next level.

“I’ve been trying to get him shut down for years, but that crazy wife of his has a great lawyer.” Late Arrival spoke up from her side.

Well, that was rude. One, she didn’t know her former lawyer/friend was _helping_ Cooper. Two, what gave him the right to insult a stranger in a semi-public mediation? Felicity turned to look at him and then snapped her eyes back to the front.

He had paint smudges in his hair and while Iris clicked through the very numerous paintings of herself looking up at the viewer, she couldn’t help but look at his reaction- nothing. He’d seen these all before. A few of his other paintings were there too, the poor man Cooper had been stealing from in all of them in various states of paint splatter. There were at least a hundred photographs until the final one had the two of them proudly standing in front of the picture of a house.

“He did that one, actually.”

It was the house Cooper had grown up in as a child. She’d seen it in photographs. The two of them had never been there together despite their marriage of four years. Another warning flag she’d missed. The man next to her finally turned to look at her when the lights kicked up and he muttered “Holy shit.” before running out of the room.

Maybe her hair was a little mussed from running there in heels, but that was no excuse to run out of the room.  Especially when it seemed like he was the one who was going to benefit from this the most.

Iris laid out a plan for everyone to get what was due to them, and apparently the one Cooper had stolen the most from wasn’t interested in the money anymore if his weird behavior was any indication. Glancing up at the clock, exactly ten minutes later the weird other artist guy rushed back into the room, throwing his knapsack on the floor, a pad of paper already in his hands.

“I always wondered how a hack like Cooper Seldon had gotten the lighting just right. But now it’s obvious. He had the real deal.”

He wasn’t making any sense, but his paint covered hands gently moved her chin and he put his fingers out to center his perspective. While easily one of the strangest experiences of her life, she couldn’t help but notice his blue eyes staring at her. It was hard to pinpoint if anyone had ever looked at her so intently. It was exhilarating. Especially from someone who looked like _that_.

Did she think he was hot? He had paint splattered on his jeans and in his hair and his arms flexed rather nicely while looked for a blank piece of paper to sketch on. Yep. He was hot. And an artist. Did she have a thing for artists? Did she have a thing for him? Cooper _stole_ from this poor man. A man who carried six or seven sketchbooks in his man bag.

The Artist flipped past hundreds of sketches of her, which made her realize that Cooper never sketched anything, just went straight to stenciling and spraying. That was probably the first warning sign of his plagiarism problem.

The others filed out of the room and Iris sat down to go over the paperwork. “Oops, you missed one of the signatures, Ms. Smoak.”

The paper flew down the conference table and she stopped it before it landed right in the middle of The Artist’s sketch pad. Taking one of his pens that he’d put on the table, she signed her signature and got up to hand it back to Iris.

The Artist looked up, expecting her to be in the same position. He checked her face, and then glanced back at his sketchpad. Then back at her face. His hand went to her face again and moved her chin up. Satisfied he went back to sketching.

Felicity moved to grab her purse and his grunt of disapproval startled her out of her trance. This was crazy. He was crazy. She did not just sit around to be sketched by very attractive men. Especially if she never did it with her husband. Not that she wanted to do _it_ with The Artist. She was too busy calling him “The Artist” in her head to catch his actual name and “Dimples” was not a proper pseudonym for him.

She was done with artists. She was done with men. In the two years since her divorce she had gone on one date. The Artist was too much for her to handle, too similar to Cooper in all the wrong ways- artist. Check. Attractive. Check. Intense. Double Check. But maybe some part of her wanted to stick it to Cooper or maybe a part of her was lonely because when he asked her to go back to his studio and pose for him, she went.

She wasn’t really sure what to make of his studio, especially after he mumbled some excuse about getting her some water. She’d never really posed for Cooper before but she’d seen enough movies to get the gist of what was supposed to happen. The artist asked the subject to take their clothes off and then painting happens.

Unzipping her dress, she let it drop to the floor and sat on the chair opposite in the easel, wondering if he got lost at his own studio.

 He walked back into the main area and dropped the water bottles he’d grabbed. “I don’t even know your name and you’re going to take your clothes off in my studio?”

If she had known keeping her clothes on was an option she would have taken it, but she was already naked and she was going to run with it, “It’s Felicity.” It was too late to be embarrassed now and she felt oddly at ease with the whole situation which was so not _her._

The whole experience was weird- for a man who complained about her being naked, he left the water bottles on the floor and was already painting. He peered around the canvas at her and _almost_ smiled, “Oliver. Oliver Queen”

She wasn’t sure how much time had passed; there was no music, no sounds, just breathing and paint strokes hitting canvas. Stretching the tension out of her shoulders, she stood up to see how far he’d gotten.

Every single inch of canvas was covered, a swirl of green paint in a perfect likeness. Except there was a winged tattoo on her wrist, the Felicity in the painting showing it to the viewer.  Felicity didn’t have a tattoo, she hated needles too much to get one.

 He had painted the texture in her hair and put a dress on her even though she was naked in real life. Which hello, was so very strange, but she was a pro at sitting down. It made her feel- something she couldn’t put her finger on. Sexy? Confident? No: _Hot._

Yep, that was it. And he was so intensely focused on the painting, for some reason it took her breath away. Felicity hadn’t felt that focused on anything since her mother died. But here she was naked save for her Hello Kitty underwear focused on- nothing. It was freeing in a way she didn’t think possible.

She felt oddly- at home in his studio. Dirty glass windows obscured anyone’s view and if the window they climbed out of was any indication no one else ever came up here. The Artist hadn’t even noticed she moved, he just grabbed another shade of green off his tray and kept painting.

Slipping her dress back on, she wandered around the space. It used to be a rooftop greenhouse if the glass roof was any indication, but he’d filled every nook and cranny with storage containers that held his paint.

Starting with red, the whole exterior was half-opened tubes of paint, poking out of drawers, then orange and so on. Paint tubes, colored pencils, all cumulating in his work space in the center. He had a surgical tray that held the colors he was working with and a leather stool in front of his easel.

Along the far wall was a drafting table, a picture of a circuit board clipped to the top.

Intrigued, she took her phone out and snapped a picture.

“-What are you doing?”

“Why do you have a picture of a circuit board?”

Oliver’s eyebrow twitched, and he unclipped the sketch.  “I drew this when I was a kid. I thought it was a bunch of squiggles.”

Looking over his shoulder, she pointed to where the circuit board’s power supply would go and where the electrical components would sit once soldered. She looked at drawings like this all day and it looked like a tiny computer chip. They didn’t make computer chips that small when she was a kid, definitely not when he was a kid either. Not that he was old. He was just older. And hot. And maybe getting some crow’s feet _prematurely_.

Yep. She was going crazy.

But she was too close to him and that was dangerous. Shields up, don’t get close, don’t feel anything. That was her new mantra. Especially with The Artist formerly known as Dimples. Having nothing in common with this gorgeous man, a painter at that, this could lead to nothing but heartache. She knew heartache all too well.

 His painting was done and she had to catch up on emails before work in the morning- simple things. Her day job. Seattle. Never seeing him again.

Making her excuses to leave, she made a promise to herself that she wouldn’t think of The Artist and how nice he smelled ever again. Her plan was perfect until she realized she stolen his sketch. She’d left Star City with it-

Without her cell phone.

“Frak.”

**

Oliver could hardly believe how _rude_ he had been to The Muse. Thea had always said he got “scary intense” when he was in the zone, but she was there, living and breathing. He wasn’t crazy- or as crazy as he thought. They were- meant to be in each other’s lives, he was sure of it. So after he’d finished _Woman in Green_ he’d gone to scrub the paint off his arms a little more aggressively than he should have.

The Muse had just taken off her dress like it was _nothing_. It was everything.

But he supposed she didn’t know the first thing about modeling, which was odd because her creepy asshole ex-husband should have had naked paint fights with her every night. She was gorgeous. And Oliver knew that, but then the dress had come off and he hadn’t meant to make the whole thing green, but he was doing his best to not look at the woman he may have been fantasizing about since they were children.

And the dress was green. That was something safe to look at. He’d already committed her face to memory, but the light hitting her cheeks and the slight smattering of freckles on the bridge of her nose was enchanting.

Then, she’d been looking at his sketch and he’d been overcome with the urge to kiss her. The urge to kiss was a new feeling. He’d been with other women of course, but The Muse was a special case. She had taken his heart a long time ago. Not all at once, but in small pieces. One sketch there, one color palette there.

She’d run off before he could though.  Of course she had, he must have scared her-

Glancing towards the buzzing noise coming from nearby, her cellphone was perched on his stool.  Maybe his heart lurched at the thought of seeing her again but this was a perfect opportunity. Talk to her like a human being, not like she was just a very attractive model. She was important, and she’d need her cellphone to function. And maybe he could find out if he really was crazy or if- his weird feelings meant something.

Driving to the Smoak Technologies the next morning, he entered the building with the painting under one arm, and a coffee in the other, he walked straight to the elevator with his Visitor’s Pass clipped to his t-shirt.

Felicity was pacing in her office, and she stopped abruptly when she realized he’d been staring.

“I apparently missed like 52 earth-shattering voice messages and my assistant had a dentist appointment this morning and I’m- a little frazzled. Just like, hang out or something and I’ll get back to you. Thank you, again. You didn’t have to come all this way.”

The Muse was a _busy_ woman and quickly headed to her computer to do whatever it was she was doing. He was patient. He could wait.

Oliver held up his painting of the view from her office up to the real thing and was satisfied. He wasn’t sure if he was supposed to leave or stay, but he pulled his mini hammer off his keychain and pounded the nail he’d brought into the wall.

The noise must have startled her because Felicity jumped almost falling over before speaking, “Oh. You’re still here. Sorry. I’m not normally this inhospitable.”

Her heels clicked against the wood flooring and she stood next to the painting.

“Nice. Free art. Tech companies need sprucing.” Felicity babbled, “So where’s this? Star City?”

Oliver huffed in amusement. “It’s the view out that window.”

She didn’t question why or how he was able to paint the view from her window, but she looked convinced that it wasn’t the view right in front of her. Felicity’s nose scrunched up at him and put her hands up to frame the scene in front of her, “My mother used to stand at this window and stare out of it for hours when my parents were together. She died a few years ago.”

“I’m sorry.” And he was sorry as insignificant as that might seem. Her eyes widened in recognition and she looked away from her phone to smile up at him.

She softly she whispered ‘thanks' before returning to her messages. It sounded practiced, a default response, but somehow he could tell that she got what he was trying to convey to her.

Still not sure if he should leave or not, he pulled out his cell phone and made sure his agent got the pictures of _Woman in Green._ The pictures would be used in an article detailing the thefts and Barry assured him that it would plastered on every news site by noon.

Felicity had stopped pacing to lean over her desk, “Kendra, could you come in here?”

Oliver tried to not act surprised when he saw Kendra walk into the room. She nodded at him, like it’s the most normal thing in the whole world to see him there. In Seattle. At Smoak Technologies. Felicity gave her lunch order to Kendra without even glancing up. She’d been quiet, absorbed in her work. Little frown on her lips while she stared up at her computer monitors.

“Will Mr. Queen be joining you?”

“Yes.” Oliver spoke up because Felicity’s whole body appeared to be frozen. Kendra waved her hands in front of Felicity’s face and she blinked, her cheeks turning just slightly pink in her embarrassment for forgetting about him. Again.

“You’re Oliver _Queen_?”

“Yes? I introduced myself yesterday.”

“Queen Consolidated was one of my main competitors. The guy who took over after you left ended up getting the whole tech department fired in an email scandal. I relocated them all here.”

Oliver knew that something had happened at the company, but watching Felicity reenact the “Story of the Scandal” was pretty hilarious. Apparently Garett, his replacement for VP in Marketing, had been looking at porn at work and gotten a virus so powerful that they had to take the server down for five hours to clear it out of the system. No calls, no emails, for five hours was enough to cost QC millions of dollars. Garett had apparently blamed it on the head of IT and when he left all of IT went with him.

Felicity, in a fit of giggles, finally ended the story with, “The best thing? Curtis? The Head of IT? He’s _gay_.  He’d never even heard of Busty Asian Beauties. The way he tells it- he found your father at the golf course, you the know, the one named after him, and resigned on the 9 th hole. _Good luck, Sir, Mr. Queen, Sir. No one will ever work as good or as cheap as me. Holt out!_ Mic dropped the putter and everything!”

Oliver had never realized it before, but the _bark_ of laughter that came out of his mouth was downright embarrassing. And he couldn’t stop laughing. His _sides_ hurt. No one ever mouthed off to his father, especially not in front of his golf buddies. He hadn’t laughed like that in a long time.

Kendra came back with their lunch and slipped him a pad of paper and a pencil on her way out. Apparently his old mentor wasn’t going to let him miss his chance with The Muse while he had one. He’d starting eating his lunch on her sofa and she joined him kicking her heels off and propping her feet up on the coffee table like it was something she was “getting away with”. It was her office, if The Muse wanted to put her feet on it, that was up to her. Following in suit, he put his feet up too and the smile she gave him was blinding.

Felicity picked the chicken off his salad and ate it, talking about the merits of recycling computer components and how she emailed the scan of his circuit board to the guys “On the Tenth Floor” and they were having a competition to see who could use it the best.

 “Do they do that a lot?”

“Have competitions? That’s the bread and butter of being on the tenth floor. Do your regular _boring_ work, and your extra _fun_ work at the same time. My dad started on the tenth floor when he was working for my grandfather. Then he married my mother and he ran the company for a while and then I was on the tenth floor and now it’s now. He went into early retirement.”

The second her sandwich was gone, it was like a mask of misery fell back onto her face and she went back to her computer. Frown. Crinkle between the eyebrows. Oliver didn’t want to sketch that, but maybe everything wasn’t always smiles and giggles. The Muse deserved that.

When Felicity left for the day, her heels were in her hands, her briefcase practically falling out of her hands, and her cellphone was between her cheek and her shoulder.

Grabbing the briefcase like a pizza box, he slung it over his shoulder, using the strap that was attached and tucked her cellphone into the front pocket. Holding his arm out she leaned against it to step back into her shoes and lifted each leg up one at a time to fix the ankle strap.

“What are you still doing here?”

“You never asked me to leave. Now, I’m going to buy you dinner.”

She didn’t protest even, though he was under the distinct impression she wanted to.

**


	4. A work of art is above all an adventure of the mind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Ms. Smoak, are you aware of why you are at this court-mandated mediation?”  
> “Because my ex-husband is a cheater and a liar and I may have tried to discredit his career and ruin him digitally. Not that it could be proved in a court of law, so clearly it did NOT happen. So now I’m at mediation.” Felicity looked around the room at the other people there, none of them her ex-husband. “Wait. Who are these other people?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so sorry forgot to update this week! this is the steamy chapter ;)

“We’ve been on three ‘not dates’ and I am hungover because I was definitely drinking too much at the last one and it’s not like he’s done anything but draw me, and now his agent wants us to do interviews and the publicity would be good for the company and have you seen his arms? I thought artists were supposed to be scrawny pale goth-types.”

Their third _not-a-date-date_ was while she was buying tampons. Okay if she was being honest, she was Pokemon hunting. Someone had said the Target near her house had a Pikachu and she may have gone over in her sweats to catch the damn thing. And then maybe she was in the condom aisle.

And maybe she was thinking about buying condoms.

And then Oliver’s _holy crap actual model_ sister walked past her saying, “OLIVER JONAS QUEEN WHERE ARE YOU? I’m in the condom aisle!”

Thea Queen was #famous and even stopped to take pictures with some fans in the middle of the freaking Target. Why were they in a Target in Seattle? Why was she not leaving the condom aisle? Why was Thea, actual human being and Instagram star, saying, rather loudly, that _Ollie_ should buy some condoms? For that hot chick he was hanging out with? Was that her? Maybe she should reconsider the condoms.

“I’m in the vitamin aisle, Thea. Quiet down.” Of course, he was. He needed B12 or B6 to keep his dimples intact. It was his secret.

Vitamins were two aisles over. She had a chance to leave. She had a chance but then the damn Pikachu showed up and the little yellow rat was hers.  Maybe she said “fuck yes” in the middle of target. Maybe she panicked when Thea Model Queen looked at her. Maybe she decided that between the condoms and the tampons and the Pikachu, that tampons were the best choice.

Which is how The Artist found her. Probably thinking about her flow and periods and he had a little sister maybe he was sympathetic to her scrubby self. Looking desperate for tampons. She wanted to die.

 “Wow, big bro #1, you _are_ a good artist. Good to know those art school bills were worth it.” Thea Dearden Queen Merlyn _pinched Felicity’s cheeks_ and gave a satisfied nod at her appearance. In holey sweats and a tank top that was much too baggy to be presentable. “Come! Let’s _drink_! Unless you had plans or something.”

Thea looked up at her with puppy dog eyes and she _couldn’t_ say no. Even if Felicity looked horrible. To which Thea, actual ball of energy, said they could go _shopping_ and bought her clothes. Thea had enough makeup in the trunk of her car to give hundreds of makeovers to hundreds of people and sat her down on the bumper to do her makeup. In front of Target, God, and the Krispy Kreme.

“They just like, give it to me, sometimes. Well, a lot of times.”

Felicity had mouthed, ‘Help Me’ to The Artist but he was no help.

It was a story that Kendra had not believed. Poo.

Felicity lifted the icepack that was covering her forehead and looked at Kendra who seemed much too amused with the whole situation to be helpful, “You’re supposed to be my friend/assistant. Right now you’re not doing either.”

Kendra smacked her with one of the couch cushions, “Just because you had one bad experience with a- let me stress this- FAKE ARTIST- doesn’t mean that you don’t deserve love, Felicity. Now I’m going back to compiling quarterly reports and you’re going to think of the next big thing in tech.”

Putting the ice pack back on her forehead she wished for the day to just end already. It was Friday and she planned on eating ice cream until she felt sick and then ordering a pizza.

Not even bothering to look at her phone ringing at her side, she held it up to her ear and said, “Oliver?”

“No. Um. This is Barry Allen. His agent. Oliver wouldn’t tell me who your, like, media relations person was, but I’ve got at least twenty interview requests that want both of you.” Barry might be new to his job.  But then maybe she should have looked at her phone before assuming it was Oliver.  But he was the only one that called at this time of night lately.

Convinced she would not have any more ice pack time, Felicity stumbled over to her desk and wrote down the times and places of some of the interviews and promised to fit them into her schedule.

Her life didn’t make sense anymore. The more she tried to avoid The Artist the more he seemed to be in her life. And as much as her brain might be protesting about seeing him again, she couldn’t help but anticipate their next meeting.

And she hated being cooped up in her office so she grabbed her bottle of water and went down to the labs where Curtis and Cisco were playing Mario Kart on an old N64.

“Good thing your boss isn’t here.” Felicity smiled, grabbing the fourth controller.

Cisco paused the race before choosing his words very carefully, “Um, Felicity? _You_ are our boss.”

“Oh yeah. That means I get Yoshi. Suckers!” She swapped hers for Winn’s controller and proceeded to kick all of their asses on Rainbow Road.

She missed the lab.

She missed hanging out with her- boys? Guys? Co-workers? Her father retired after her mother died, even though they weren’t together, even though she had step sisters and a half-sister.  She was naturally the choice for CEO, even though that was the last thing she wanted to be doing. Being in front of a computer, helping the guys out. That’s what she excelled at.

“I-I think I’m going to step down as CEO.”

“Oh thank god. I mean moving here from Star City was bad enough but then you were gone.” Curtis exhaled in relief, “But if you’re not going to be CEO- who is?”

“Jana is in Business School.” Felicity shrugged. She’d give the company to her half-sister in a heartbeat.  Or any of her step-sisters. Or anyone really. Smoak Tech pretty much ran itself. She would just need to trust them and well that list of people was considerably smaller.

“Do you send your resignation letter to yourself?”

 “Do you want your office back because I’ve kinda moved in and I don’t want to move out.”

That left Felicity with “No Man’s Land”- the office that was immediately in front of the staircase and elevator. No Man’s Land had been empty since her father took over the company- no true nerd wanted to be the first face on the tenth floor. That meant talking to people and distractions- other than the other nerds, that is.

“Um. Boss- not Boss- New boss in a different position?”

“What?”

Cisco leaned forward in his chair, pausing the game, “There’s an American Ninja Warrior standing in the foyer.”

Felicity leaned forward to look out in the hallway where Oliver was standing -so very awkwardly.

She had not known The Artist long, but he always seemed to analyzing everything. The wallpaper outside of her office, the dinner fork at the restaurant. Maybe he was taking mental pictures of everything, but it was more than that.

Right now he was focused on the floor tiles.

“Is he alright? It might be a low-grade seizure.”

Felicity leaned back slowly and un-paused the game. If only dealing with her current situation was as easy as beating those three at Mario Kart. She eventually won and stood up, walking briskly into the hallway.

“So… whatchya doing? Here. At this time. In this place.” Felicity hoped she sounded casual. Very caz. Super caz. Because while inebriated, she and his sister may have danced on a table top or two and she might have told her about The Artist Formerly Known As Dimples having a nice ass. Which was a fact she could not ignore anymore.

“I-I honestly don’t know. I was leaving town and then Barry called about the interview in the morning and I was hungry. I’m always hungry around you.”

Come to think of it, she was pretty hungry. She skipped lunch that afternoon and she way paying for it now. Too hungover to eat lunch. Kendra had been pumping her full of water and she was too dizzy to eat the tomato soup she’d brought by a few hours ago.

“If you don’t go eat with this man, I’ll go instead.” Curtis jerked the controller out of her hand and gave her butt a little pat in the right direction.

Felicity collected her purse and went with Oliver.

**

Their latest string of interviews led them to the East Coast and while she normally enjoyed traveling she was exhausted. Physically. Emotionally. She didn’t know where she stood with Oliver despite their many conversations in taxis and airplanes, where she mainly stared at his dimples and watched him- sketch her.

He’d been bored on the plane and she’d fallen asleep practically on top of him, so when she woke her left hand had a cat emoji on it, with a little tail that went up her ring finger. It also didn’t come off when she tried to wash her hands so she had explain what happened to Kelly Ripa when she commented on her “tattoo”. Oliver liked to draw on everything. Everywhere. All the time.

She laughed, the audience laughed. Same story. Same questions. New dress. All day.

Interview, TV show, lunch. She wanted burgers. He wanted burgers. Yet the two of them were at a newest vegan restaurant downtown.  Because Barry thought having them do cutesy faux dates was going to go over well with the paparazzi. The traitor also _ditched_ Oliver and Felicity at the restaurant, the cameras flashing them in the face while they ordered.

Bean burgers were delicious. But not the same. Still, the mutual publicity was great for her company and his career. It also shit on Cooper which was the best part. Apparently the twitter backlash was enough for him to close up his guest residency in Prague. But she was trying to limit cackling to herself  about Cooper’s misfortune. Unsuccessfully.

“Felicity?”

Not looking up from her laptop where she was furiously typing her latest report, she mumbled around the pen she was chewing on, “Yes?”

She liked to think she worked best from the couch and the hugenormous loft they were staying in had the perfect one for working on. Also her sister was CEO now, which for some reason made her work harder. She probably could slack off, her name was on the door afterall and… wait Oliver was still talking about something-

“-You’re not wearing pants?”

Felicity looked down, she was definitely-

Not wearing pants.

Her sweat pants were across the living room on the other couch, neatly folded with her glasses on top of them. She must have been distracted after she had taken her shower. Leaning her body backwards to get a glimpse of him she huffed, “You draw me naked all the time. Are you blushing?”

“-Someone’s private thoughts- doesn’t- prude-” Oliver mumbled to himself in a very Felicity-esque fashion.

Taking the three pens out of her hair, moving her notepad from underneath her laptop and getting rid of all the crap that had accumulated on her lap- she hopped over the back of the sofa, her hands on her hips.

“Okay, Sourpuss, what’s really wrong?”

“You’re half-naked, wearing knee-high tube socks and the front of your shirt literally says ‘Nerds Like It Rough.’ I can see your green underwear, Felicity!”

Squinting, she tilted her head at him, not sure if she was reading too much into the fact that he had enough time to google what her t-shirt said in binary. Unless, he knew binary already, which really upped his street cred and she would have thought more about that train of thought if not for the very _passionate_ way he grabbed her around the middle.

She hadn’t been this close to anyone, well, ever, and she wasn’t sure what to do next. The words suck face came to mind, but he was in front of her and staring so intensely at her mouth, Felicity knew what she had to do. Decision she made, she licked her hips and _would have_ leaned forward to kiss him- if not for his lips already being pressed against her mouth.

Felicity had imagined The Artist to be an intense creature. Passionate, fiery, all of the above. But his lips pecked and sucked in a familiar pattern. He was tasting her, one kiss at a time. Not a first kiss but a hundredth kiss, an out the door, remember this all day at work kiss. Fanning the flames, Oliver’s hand slid down her thigh, in the space between her socks and her panties and dug into the skin there like he was trying to hold her leg together.

Which would work great if she wasn’t going to melt into a wet puddle on the floor. He really was an amazing kisser.

While sex wasn’t usually so- spontaneous- for her, her libido caught on quickly enough when he started sucking on the side of her neck while she tried to nudge his jeans off. There was still paint on his hands from the studio and for some reason she found that so hot. He finally shucked his jeans off and while having sex in the middle of the room was a great idea, it wasn’t looking like it was logistically possible.

“Couch. Oliver.”

He shuffled them over to the couch and his kisses turned into little nips along her jaw to suck on her ear lobe and she was definitely ready for more. Sitting on his lap, knee highs on, it was very pornesque and that was about the time she realized this was going to go poorly for her.

Felicity knew she was awkward. She had known that since she was a child. But if she could get a pass: one hour of being cool, sexy _woman,_ Felicity would want it to start now. A woman that had sex with hot artists and didn’t wear pants on purpose and was totally in control.

Grabbing his shirt collar, she epically, epically missed and instead of pulling him closer she overcompensated and almost went head first into the very nice floor that they were renting.

Felicity had had a good run. Made a few million dollars, invented some killer technology, almost had sex with a man with dimples that maybe had dimples on his ass.

She’d never really thought about men’s asses, but maybe she should start. Also she had not hit the ground yet. Maybe she died. Maybe she died about to have sex with a man that gave her ideas about Mint Chip Ice Cream and eating it off his abs. Or having a naked food fight. But that might get sticky things in sticky places and-that was Oliver’s very aroused penis pushing against her thigh.

“-That’s your penis.” 

Oliver bit his lip and nodded, “Uh-huh.”

His hands were holding her thighs down on either side of his body and if not for Sara and Laurel insisting they do “Step Sister Kickboxing” she might not be able to hold herself up in a crunch.

She was however, slightly winded from panting in lust. “Is this is doing it for you?”

“Yes. I could pull you up? Or you could put your hands down?”

The trendy couch was low enough to the ground that she could put her hands behind her body to prop herself up and if Oliver was properly motivated, he could fuck her while he sat. Which might be the weirdest positon she’d ever been in, but Oliver’s right hand moved over her hip to see if she was slick enough to slide inside of her.

Which, she obviously was. Because he was too hot to be human and she couldn’t shut up about body painting and weird angles and Oliver just nodded along dumbly, trying to wiggle her hips just right until he was inside of her.

When he finally reached his destination, Felicity found herself swearing, “Fucking SHIT.”

He was big. Like _big_ like three paint brushes, and once he was fully inside of her she was stretched in the most _delicious way_. She couldn’t touch him or do anything but brace herself while her hips tilted upwards. Oliver’s hand moved from her side to her stomach and every other thrust his fingers dug into her flesh around her belly button. She didn’t know much about erogenous zones but he had apparently found one.

Or maybe it was his fingers. Artists had good fingers right? Speaking of fingers, “Oliver I’m so close- just. You know.”

The poor boy looked like he was trying not to explode, but he nodded. The Artist’s lips were going to start bleeding if he kept biting them so hard, but he eventually caught on and moved his hand lower on her body to where their bodies were joined.

His thumb moved back and forth in a ‘Z’ pattern and Felicity honestly didn’t know what happened. One second she was having very enjoyable sex in a very weird position the next she was sure she was blind. Everything was very bright and intense, she could feel Oliver underneath her, inside of her and instead of one sharp orgasm she felt like she was floating. In sea of orgasms.

And it felt _great_.

Maybe she died. Maybe he literally fucked her brains out. It was odd not being aware of one’s body, but she might be breaking a world record for world’s longest orgasm. Oliver didn’t sound like he was doing much better, his death grip on her sides the only thing anchoring her to this dimension.

“Are you okay?” He panted, breathless. She couldn’t see him but she could feel his right hand twitching against her flesh while his left hand was probably bruising her hip

“I think I’m having an aneurysm. But I’m cool with it.”

Oliver pulled her upwards, a welcome relief for her hands and shoulders. Eye to eye things were still a little fuzzy like she’d just ridden the rollercoaster at Six Flags.  Felicity doesn’t know why that image popped into her head.  She didn’t like heights, there’s no way she’d been on a rollercoaster. Six Flags or otherwise.

“You look like we just did something dirty.” Felicity giggled, touching his face and running her hands over his hot cheeks. He was still inside of her and her knee needed to be cracked but she missed feeling normal. Happy.

“If sideways sex in a rented apartment with a view of New York in the backdrop isn’t dirty, I don’t know what is.”

“Oh, you haven’t even seen me be dirty, Dimples.” Felicity smiled, shifting her weight from side to side. His eyes widened before she continued, “Are you ready to go again?”

“Hold that that thought.” Oliver mumbled picking the two of them up. He may have stumbled a bit, but he eventually got to his bedroom where his easel was already set up.

“You want to paint us having sex.”

“Obviously. I’m an Artist.” Oliver informed her, sitting the two of them down in front of the easel. He’d put down garbage bags to catch the paint splatters but stretching herself up she flexed her muscles around him on the down stroke and he almost dropped his paint brush.

It would be incredibly selfish to use Oliver like a human dildo.

Incredibly selfish.

But she rode him hard and slow and it was almost enough to have a nice good orgasm. Giving a little whine, Oliver chuckled into her shoulder and moved his left hand to her nipple. The rough pad of his finger rubbed in the same ‘z’ shaped pattern without even having to tell him what she needed.

The paintbrush tickled the inside of her armpit.  He was painting under her right arm and his left hand was busy. The only thing he had left was his mouth and she knew he was getting closer but when his tongue went into her ear she came so hard she pitched the two of them forwards, the wooden chair hitting the mattress. Bouncing the two of them in position that should not ever happen, Oliver’s hands gripped her thighs while he rode out his orgasm.

“Nothing. Like. The prospect of. Death.” Felicity panted not even sure where she was going with that particular thought pattern.

Oliver blinked a few times before catching his breath. “We need to roll before the chair slides out.”

“I don’t know let’s stay upside down forever. I think my legs are permanently stuck in Oliver-Straddle.” Felicity felt great. She was not complaining. But she was also not moving, so if Oliver wanted to take one for the team and have them land on him or they’d let the chair fall when it did.

“Holy Jesus!” Barry’s voice cut in. “What the- I- wha-I am so sorry.”

Felicity turned to glare at Oliver’s agent and another familiar face.

“I’m not.” Iris, mediator extraordinaire, added, “She’s wearing a shirt.”

“Why are you both here? Now. Why?” Oliver groaned, trying to hide his face in the crook of her shoulder.

Apparently, they had another interview in an hour. Apparently, Iris was Barry’s wife. Apparently, neither of them had any common decency and were fine pretending that the two of them didn’t reek of sex and dirty dirty things.

Felicity didn’t mean to be rude, but she didn’t need to worry about Barry’s awesome promotion strategy when she was half-naked. “I’d be more comfortable having this conversation without the threat of gravity. Could you tilt us back up?”

Barry nodded and pushed their chair back up, “I’ll uh, meet you downstairs.”

Felicity wanted to bury her face in the sand but the closest thing was Oliver’s chest and he had been inside of her so long it was going to be a little awkward standing up, but she did it and immediately regretted it.

“I need a shower.” Felicity reached out her hand for his and when he kissed her hand instead of following her, heart deflated a little. Which in all actuality was not that much because if her heart was a balloon it was of the hot air variety

“I just need five minutes to finish up. I’ll join you.”

Felicity put her forehead against the cool tile and let the hot water flow down her back. She was probably going to be stood up by The Artist. The Artist loved working and she couldn’t hold that against him, she probably would have done the same thing if she were at home.  Closing her eyes, she promised herself she wouldn’t get too wrinkly. Also not to call Oliver _The Artist_ in her head anymore. It was just weird. It was like Oliver was one person but The Artist was a complete other person.

“Three minutes flat.” Oliver whipped the shower curtain open and pressed his erection against her ass, “I could make something else happen in three minutes flat. Want me to try?”

Felicity opened one eye and tried not to smile.

She failed.


	5. I invent nothing, I rediscover.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> But just because he wanted to be with her didn’t mean that was how it was going to be. They lived too far apart, they were very different people and-  
> “I saw you too.”
> 
> Oliver didn’t know what she was talking about.

_Oliver_

 

“Jesus, Oliver! What did I tell you about not venting this place? You’re hotboxing paint, that can’t be good for you.”

Tommy picked up a canvas near the door and started fanning the air out of his studio. Oliver wasn’t sure if he liked his latest piece it was much more abstract than he tended to paint. Tommy looked at the piece he was holding; it was The Muse’s silhouette: the curve of her hip. He’d painted her body a swirl of purples and black and turned her freckles into constellations.

Tommy nodded appreciatively, “You think Laurel would let me put this up in the living room?”

“Laurel definitely seems like the type to hang naked lady paintings in her living room.” Oliver nodded sarcastically, “Where is she? Dinner’s in ten minutes.”

“She randomly ran into her step-sister in the lobby. I volunteered to come get you.”

Oliver hadn’t heard much about Laurel’s step-sister aside from the fact they didn’t get along very well. She and Sara were closer in age and family drama about the girl’s mother and Laurel’s mother and then the girl’s _father_ was apparently a handful, then her little sister was born and more drama.

“Surprise!”

Oliver didn’t necessarily hear the surprise until after the feet pattering and he had an armful of Felicity Smoak in his arms. They lived three hours apart and after New York they hadn’t really gotten a chance to connect. Missed calls and messages but Oliver was optimistic.

“You didn’t tell me your best friend was Tommy _Merlyn_. My stepbrother in law.”

Oliver literally did not understand what was happening. They were talking to each other. They had been friends for years. Felicity had been at the wedding. The wedding he’d been the Best Man at. The Muse was literally within arm’s reach- but then she’d been married to Cooper and- they wouldn’t have connected then like they could now.

“Lis, I tell you about Ollie all the time. We share a sister.” Tommy spoke up from behind them, “Ugh you’re the one he paints!”

Oliver did not understand how it was physically possible not to recognize someone he’d been painting since they were kids. Her hair may have been darker but _everyone_ saw the resemblance in the paintings. Everyone except for the people he considered family. Laurel stepped into his studio, disgust written all over her face.

“You know Felicity used to draw when we were kids.” She spoke up finally, “Mainly football plays. Daddy thought she was aspiring to be a bookie. Then she went to Vegas to visit her father for the summer and she was suddenly super into computers.”

“Suddenly as in _always_ and my dad did own one of the world’s most innovative tech companies.”

“Yeah and now Jana’s in charge.”

Tommy’s easy smile faded and Oliver could feel that this was not going to go in a good direction. “Dinner. Reservations. You both love Donna and Jana and Quentin, so just leave it at that.”

The two of them came to a ceasefire and they actually got to the restaurant on time and they had an enjoyable evening.

“So Ollie, how did you get the idea to draw my sister?” Laurel asked half-way into her chicken parmesan. Oliver was sure Tommy had told his famous “Crazy Oliver” story at least one hundred times since he started dating Laurel in middle school.

“So I’m at soccer practice, wondering why the hell my best friend, the goalie, was not there. He just- disappeared and I was hurt, so hurt.” Tommy stopped to drink his beer before continuing, “And then low and behold he’d been hiding out at the creepy old art shop down the street all day.”

“It wasn’t creepy.”

“Yeah, it was creepy. So Oliver quits sports that summer and stays in that old dusty shop with the ugliest old lady in the history of old ladies. She smelled like death. Always kept her hair in a greasy bun, ick. Anyway, Oliver enters the drawing into an art contest and they thought he cheated. I get called down to the principal’s office, Thea gets called down to the principal’s office and Oliver tells them ‘I didn’t fucking cheat’ and proceeds to remake the drawing from scratch with the principal’s pride-and-joy gold pen. ON HIS DESK.”

Oliver didn’t think he’d ever been so angry in his life. He must have missed Laurel’s question in between bites of his salad but Tommy had apparently continued the story.

“-It was this really zen, weird picture of a little girl with pigtails. She was at a bus stop and looked like she was about to cry. He named it something like- Summer in Vegas.”

Oliver felt Felicity’s hand leave his knee when she accepted Tommy’s phone to look at the picture.

 Most people found his story cute. Tommy was a good storyteller.

Felicity dropped the phone onto the floor. It shattered in to five large pieces on the ground. Oliver wasn’t sure phones could break like that.

“I’m- I’m sorry. I’ll buy you a new one.”

Felicity apologized and then promptly stood up and left. Oliver didn’t think much of it, but when she didn’t come back after a few minutes he realized something was wrong.

Throwing some money on the table for their food, Oliver jogged out into sidewalk to look for her. Left, right nothing. Heading back to his apartment, she was on the steps up to his building- staring out into nothingness.

Oliver sat down next to her on the cold concrete and tried to see what she was staring at.

“I wondered you know, I thought maybe you’d seen me in passing or my dad used to put me in our company holiday cards. But you really _see_ me.  Saw me. Since we were kids.”

What did he say to that? What could he say to that? Maybe he’d scared her away, maybe he’d just ruined everything and his heart was bottoming out somewhere near his feet and he wasn’t equipped to handle her rejection. He hadn’t known her long but then again maybe he’d known her his whole life.

But just because he wanted to be with her didn’t mean that was how it was going to be. They lived too far apart, they were very different people and-

“I saw you too.”

Oliver didn’t know what she was talking about.

Felicity handed her phone to him and Oliver frowned looking down at the screen.

 _SPORTZ STAR_. It had crude animations and looked dated, but there was a little blonde boy hopping around the screen in a soccer ball and he ran around the screen- right past The Palette Shoppe, Kendra’s art store.

“This is the first app I made when I was kid. My mother was pregnant with Jana and I wasn’t taking it well, having two new sisters and then a third one so my mother finally broke down and let me stay with my father. He had a tech summit in Vegas and we stayed for the rest of the summer. I worked on this app every day.”

Felicity turned to look at him and touched his cheek, her thumb gently moving against his ear. He didn’t mean to close his eyes but he did against his will.

“What does this mean for us?”

“Well we’re either crazy or psychic, I’m going to think of a number and I want you to tell me what it is.”

“Felicity, that’s ridiculous.” They were not psychic. People were not psychic. But apparently Kendra was immortal or something equally unfathomable so maybe being psychic was on the table.

She scrunched her face together and covered his eyes with the hand that was on cheek. He missed the warmth her hand provided.  Oliver didn’t see how thinking about numbers was going to solve anything. There was no way in hell he could guess what number she was thinking of. She could be thinking of the number of her house growing up, or her locker number at work, or amount her favorite coffee costs at Starbucks. It could be anything.

Felicity dramatically took her hand off his face and then made a “drumroll” on her knees. “Well?”

Just as Oliver was going to admit defeat, he picked up the chalk someone had left on the sidewalk and drew the three pictures that popped into his head. Maybe that was enough, maybe it wasn’t. Looking up at Felicity he waited on baited breath for her response-

**

Felicity looked down at the chalk.

Then up at Oliver.

Instead of numbers, he made pictures. One was a coffee cup, the next was a combination lock and the other was a small house. Mentally analyzing the numbers she’d picked: 1519, 7 and 5.12. Maybe picking a decimal was cheating but he’d correctly guessed the items that went with the numbers.

People weren’t psychic, right? They’d be on the news or swindling people out of their money- WHAT IF PEOPLE WERE PSYCHIC AND SWINDLING PEOPLE OUT OF THEIR MONEY? Felicity couldn’t think fast enough for her brain to understand what was going on.

This didn’t make sense. People weren’t psychic. They certainly didn’t draw things as children and then meet that person as an adult. But she had been so hungry lately, even after she’d just eaten. And Oliver was, well gorgeous and dimpled and she may have passed out a little bit when they had sex but-

“Well? What were the numbers?”

“How do you know binary?” Felicity asked instead, thinking back to her t-shirt. Oliver didn’t know what she was taking about and as cute as his confused look was, it mattered.

“My t-shirt, the one that says NERDS LIKE IT ROUGH.”

“I don’t know. I just knew. Felicity- there’s something I need to tell you.”

Nothing that started with that sentence was ever good news. Oh god, maybe he was married.

“It’s about Kendra.”

He was married to Kendra?

“That art shop? That I went every day? The one in your app? It belonged to Kendra. She’s been this age since I was a kid.”

Felicity, for maybe in the first time ever, was speechless. Kendra was not old. She liked Project Runway and drinking cheap wine. Kendra sang karaoke on weekends for fun and had some tragic story about her husband and always wore bright colors and smiled like her life depended on it.

None of this made sense and her ass was freezing so she did what she always did. Went to clear her head. Which led to her car and back to Seattle and then she was calling Kendra to meet her.

“ullo?”

Felicity was not in the mood for this. She’d had an emotional night and she really needed her friend, “Hey are you free this weekend? For coffee?”

_Babe put the phone down. I’m only in town for two days._

Felicity knew that voice in the background. She knew that Oliver was telling her the truth as crazy as it seemed and she didn’t know if she was relieved or creeped out.

_Carter._

**

_Felicity_

If you were to ask Felicity why she was so interested in computers she could tell you exactly why: Her father.

When she was a little girl, before her grandfather died and he was given the struggling tech company, he would sit up with her tinkering while her mother was working the night shift. He promised Donna that she would be in bed at a decent time but the two of them would stay up and tinker until she fell asleep with a soldering gun in her hands.

When they got divorced, Felicity didn’t understand why she couldn’t see her father anymore. Then her mother started dating Quentin and he was a stickler for the rules and didn’t tinker and didn’t stay up late. But he loved her mother and so did she, so Felicity had let it go. Tinkering could be done at normal times.

Then her mother was going to have another baby and Little Felicity had asked to live with her father.

“Why, Sweet Pea? Do you not like Quentin?”

“No I like him. He’s nice. He makes you happy.”

“I don’t fit in with you guys anymore.” Felicity put her little hand on her mother’s arm, “And that’s okay. Laurel and Sara like to run around and play sports and I just don’t. I want to live with Daddy.”

Felicity wasn’t exactly happened to the company with her grandfather’s death, but her mother couldn’t run a struggling tech company and Felicity was too little to run a company so when she moved in with her father he became her proxy.

Vegas was hot. That’s what she remembered most. The second thing she remembered was Carter. He had been with her father for years. His best friend. Right hand man. Security guard. The two of them were best friends, if a little girl could be best friends with an older man.

He made sure her food didn’t have nuts in it, and helped her play with scrap pieces while her father was trying to get investors.

“Noah, this is not the place for a little girl.”

Felicity stuck her tongue out at Carter. She didn’t care where she was as long as she was with her father. Perched on his shoulders, she observed the convention center floor, her father telling people’s names and where they worked.

CEO training, he’d told her.

Carter argued that she would hate being CEO, and if that day came it would come many many years later.

Her favorite part of that summer was when the convention was over and they packed up her father’s lab and moved to Seattle. They spent all day putting different circuit boards together and her father taught her how to code.

Carter wasn’t half bad at coding either, smiling at Sportz Star over her shoulder, he’d said, “One day, there will be little files like this one on everyone’s phones. They will watch television, take pictures and play games all from a portable phone.”

“Wow!” Felicity clapped clearly impressed, “That will be expensive.”

“No, the phones are actually pretty affordable-”

Felicity giggled, “Not the phones, the _satellites_. Daddy is designing a circuit board for one.”

She pointed at the circuit board her father had painstakingly sketched and put up on a chalkboard. She had fixed it of course, the heatsink was in the wrong place and it was the wrong shape completely. Carefully erasing her father’s work had taken some time, but while Carter was playing Sportz Star she’d gotten the job done.

Her father came home from the office, walking past the chalkboard.

“Felicity? Sweetie?”

“Yes?”

“Why did you change Daddy’s drawing?”

Felicity looked up at him and shrugged before kicking his chair into motion so she could sit and spin. “If you make it smaller, it will be lighter on the rocket ship into space.”

Years later, her father told her that it was impossible for her to know that he was making parts for a satellite. Felicity insisted it wasn’t.


	6. If you're the art, I'll be the brush

_Oliver_

Oliver had followed Felicity back to Seattle, but instead of going to her place he drove to Kendra’s.

He needed answers. He needed something.

Turning down the hallway, Oliver almost fell flat onto his face, the pair of feet tripping him in the hallway. Felicity was staring at Kendra’s apartment door, pint of ice cream in her hands. It was unopened, and Oliver slide down the wall next to her to stare at the brown door.

“Praline Pecan is your favorite, isn’t it?” She opened the container and handed him a spoon.

“Yes.”

“I’m allergic to nuts. I thought it was weird when I bought it.” Felicity dug into her purse and had another container with another spoon. “I’m gonna talk and you’re gonna eat that ice cream and then we’ll talk to Kendra.”

Oliver nodded and put the spoon into the ice cream. He didn’t indulge in ice cream often but it sounded good.

“When I was a kid, Carter was my father’s assistant. Assistant/Bodyguard/Friend. He was always just around, looking out for me and my Dad. He told me once he had a son that died when he was my age and that his wife lived in Star City. He was very sad like, all the time. He’s the one who saved Jana when my Mom d-dd-died.” Felicity stumbled over the last word and remedied the situation by shoving more ice cream into her mouth. She went on to explain that Carter disappeared after that mumbling something about a conspiracy.

Oliver had no clue why Carter was so ingrained in her life. Or why Kendra was so ingrained into his own life. 

“Anyway, I just called Kendra and heard him in the background and now I’m convinced there’s a secret society of immortal people.”

If Kendra was immortal than it made sense that there were others who were immortal. If that made sense if any of this messed up situation could make sense. He wasn’t sure anything made sense anymore. Especially this Carter person had been looking after her- the flames of jealousy were a weird sensation to say the least. It wasn’t an emotion he could remember feeling in recent memory.

Putting both of their ice cream containers on the ground, Oliver decided he would just come out and say it, “Who is Carter?”

“Carter is Kendra’s immortal husband!” Felicity exclaimed, as if it were most obvious statement ever.

Letting out a sigh of relief, Oliver handed the ice cream back to Felicity and motioned for her to eat. If Carter and Kendra were married then there must be more to the story. Kendra mentioned her husband a few times but nothing particularly enlightening. Oliver had been under the impression he died a long time ago and Kendra never talked about him because of the heartache. Apparently Felicity's outburst alerted the occupants of the apartment to their presence. The front door whipped open, the man he assumed was Carter holding a  _mace._ Like a renaissance festival,  pointy thing on a stick. Oliver had only ever seen them in pictures but it looked real.

And  _bloodstained_.

“Answers now!” “Why does Tommy think Kendra looks old?”

Caught, Carter shrugged his shoulders and motioned for them to come inside. Sitting down on the couch, Felicity's hand went for Oliver’s before he’d even sat down. The calming effect of being near Felicity enveloped his body, and he got the overwhelming feeling that things would be alright if they just stuck together. Whatever the story was between their weird ability or Kendra and Carter- they would figure it out. Carter disappeared into the kitchen and brought back two drinks.

“What is this?” Oliver asked sniffing the glass. He doubted their alleged protectors would try to poison them, but he figured it didn't hurt to ask.

“Russian Vodka with a twist and her favorite drink is whiskey sunrise.” Carter relayed to them as if it was common knowledge. He was more of a beer drinker but it was good when he sipped it.

Oliver knew Felicity hated whiskey. But she drank the liquid in the glass and was pleasantly surprised with the taste if her face was any indication- the hint of a smile on her cheeks.

“Where I come from he drinks whiskey and you just got used to it.”

Kendra came out of the kitchen and smiled, “Usually this part doesn’t happen so I’m a little surprised to be honest. What do you know about ancient Egyptian mythology and curses?”

He knew nothing about mythology or curses. He painted for a living. But Kendra had a fantastic story about her past lives and meeting Oliver and Felicity in Star City. Same year. Different place. A different life- another life. Apparently, magic was real. Apparently, in this other life he was a masked vigilante named the Green Arrow. He was a hero. Whomever or whatever cursed them- they had volunteered to take it to save their friends. And Kendra and Carter were trying to break the curse so they could go home.

“One of you always dies. Then time resets and we’ve done this about twenty times, but this time Diggle’s not here and Felicity married that _asshole_ , but then look! You’re both here and together and things just might work out for the-”

Oliver didn’t think he could properly describe what was happening. Kendra  just disappeared. She was there one second and gone the next. Mid-sentence, she was occupying the same spot and then it was if she was never there. The apartment was still there; hell Carter was still there but Kendra was gone.

Relieved, Carter looked up to the ceiling. “Oh thank god, we’re finally going home-”

Carter obviously thought he’d be disappearing too, but after an uneventful five minutes, nothing happened.

“Well, since you’re here you can fill us in on the whole curse situation before you disappear.” Felicity supplied helpfully, distracting the other man from his staring at the ceiling.

Carter plopped himself down on the couch in defeat. “What do you know about soulmates? Because let me tell you, you know nothing.”

**

_Felicity_

Felicity blinked.

Mainly, she was confused. But Oliver looked equally confused so that was a small comfort. Carter, she thought anyway, was a stoic. Here he talked animatedly about past lives, other lives, being a prince in Ancient Egypt. He made jokes. Hours of explaining things and timeships and it as like an episode of Doctor Who was real.

Apparently, they were friends wherever he came from. Best Friends. The best of friends. Carter was one of the groomsmen at their wedding and Kendra was a bridesmaid. They apparently dealt with magic and metahumans and it was a comic book come to life.

“Chay-ara- Kendra- and I are immortal. When you were cursed, we stepped in and then we got sent here. Kay calls it Earth-3. I wake up with a new life, with one of you. And she the other. You’d be surprised how many similarities in life happen. If we spend more than two days together trying to figure it out, it starts over. If one of you dies, it starts over. It’s like a video game from hell.”

Oliver had been quiet the whole time, “What’s a Diggle?”

“He’s a good man. A friend. I don’t know why he’s not in your life this time.”

Felicity cleared the wine glasses and dirty plates while Carter told a particularly memorable story about Diggle and when she came back he was gone.

“What does this mean for us?” Oliver asked, staring blankly at the spot Carter used to occupy.

Felicity wasn’t sure she could answer that question. She just hoped that Kendra and Carter made it home. Soulmates, curses, that was just too much to process at once. There were hard questions she needed to ask herself about Oliver and their relationship.

What she knew for certain was that she wasn’t ready to let him go. Pressing a kiss to his cheek, she grabbed her purse and held her hand out for him.

“Let’s get out of here.”

He didn’t take her hand.

“-Felicity I think we need some time apart to think about things.”

Felicity didn’t know your heart could drop down to your toes so quickly. It was a numbing feeling in her face and her chest. His hand took her own and he pressed his lips to it.

“I don’t know if you’re ready for all of this. And that’s understandable. It’s a lot to take in. And I don’t even know what the hell happened to Kendra or Carter or anything about that place they’re from. I’m- drawn to you. Probably too much.”

She looked up and watched him walk away. He stumbled a bit when she started crying but he walked towards the staircase alone.

**

_Oliver_

Panting, Oliver did his best to calm his racing heart. It was earlier than he normally liked to get up- one of the only perks of working for yourself was sleeping in- and if he closed his eyes just so he could still feel Felicity’s arm brush against his own as if she was there next to him, showing him a cat video on her tablet.

She would laugh at him thinking he had a dirty dream and then he would tickle her.

Those were the sorts of things he dreamed about now. It was so clear in his head he couldn’t deny that something more was going on with them. He wished he could talk to anyone _someone_ about their connection. But Kendra and Carter were gone. Forgotten as if they never existed.

The more he tried to not think about Felicity, the easier it was to connect with her. It wasn’t like he could see through her eyes but he just knew what she was thinking about. More often than not it was him, but a lot of it was Jana or the boys on the tenth floor.

Felicity had a habit of not eating, which made him hungry and by the fourth day of starving despite eating, he sent the whole floor lunch. Thinking his problems were over he went back to painting until the stomach cramps hit again.

He was mad. The worst part he couldn’t tell if she mad or he was mad unless they were both mad.

He could paint when he’d gone through all of his reds and oranges and moved onto black. Black everywhere, off the canvas and onto the drop cloth. The whole place was a swirl of blacks and grays, splattered over the once colorful drawers of his studio. It fit his sour mood and probably hers too.

The door whipped open to his studio, Felicity stomping her heels as loudly as possible. “I can’t take it anymore. All I feel all day is how _you_ feel and how _you_ think I need to eat more and how red #003 isn’t dark enough and why can’t you _not_ touch yourself in the shower?”

Oliver felt the fire of shame on his cheeks. And it would have bothered him if she wasn’t blushing profusely already.  

Felicity crossed the room to stand in front of him, her finger pointed on his chest. “I decided I don’t care if it’s weird or if you think I’m _supposed_ to do something with some higher power or fate. You’re _The Artist_ , I’m _The Muse_ and I’m going to kiss you now.”

Standing up that was impossible- she was too short. That’s what he was thinking about anyway when she _jumped him._ His hands went to her ass and he grunted the air out of his lungs. She really did have a soft squishy ass.

Flexing his hand muscles, he made sure their faces were level and when her hands grabbed his face he puckered his lips like a fish.

Felicity smacked his left cheek before groaning, “I hate you.”

“You love me.” Oliver countered pulling their bodies closer together.

“Yeah, I think I do.” Felicity whispered finally able to kiss him properly. They kissed until his arms started to burn and then moved towards the couch he kept in the back of his studio.

He thought being with Felicity would help heal something he thought was broken inside of himself. Imaging The Muse as some perfect, timeless woman wasn’t something real compared to the blonde who had stolen his painting stool for a foot rest so she could type on her laptop.

She got downright rude when she hadn’t had her coffee in the morning and worked herself too hard, even after resigning as CEO. The Muse was a kind, funny, beautiful woman and while he’d like to paint portraits of her for the rest of their lives- that wasn’t the best way to have a career. It felt wrong to make her into all of his art for the rest of time.

They’d eaten Chinese food and he suddenly felt anxious about something he couldn’t put his finger on. The feeling had been happening more and more lately but he wasn’t sure where it was coming from. Sneaking a glance at Felicity she was frowning at her computer screen, but then her eyes lit up when she found the solution.

Things were good with The Muse. The three-hour drive sucked but things could be worse.

He felt like he was being pulled in two different directions. His studio, his sanctuary, was in Star City. And Felicity couldn’t move Smoak Technologies- her family was in Seattle. He felt like he was wasting their time together painting her.

They should be talking and smiling and laughing. Preferably in several different stages of undress.

Instead he was _working_ on a SUNDAY. Felicity was working too so maybe that made them even. His phone rang and he put down his palette and wiped his hands off on his jeans, “Hey. Barry- kinda working now-”

“You can’t avoid me forever, Oliver. I sent that proposal over weeks ago. Live Art events are very _in_ right now Oliver.”

“Power Rangers were _in_ when you were born. I’m not a _showman_ , Barry. I am an artist. I don’t need an adult coloring book to feel accomplished.” Oliver argued, closing the file folder Barry had brought to his studio.

“You do however need moolah if you want to open your own gallery without your parent’s money. It’s not like you’re doing commissions left and right. The hype around your Soulmate Art is gone.”

Oliver didn’t make art for the money. But he knew he needed it.

“Fine. What did you have in mind?”

Barry detailed his idea for a live art event: Felicity. Instead of painting her- he’d paint _on_ her. As a walking, talking art piece. The idea was certainly outside the box, but he wasn’t sure if Felicity would like being exposed. She tended to blush all the way down her neck when he suggested anything even a bit scandalous.

Felicity tossed her laptop to the side and pumped her fists in the air. “Okay. Done with working. Sex now. Please?”

Felicity skipped across his studio and grabbed his phone with a wink, “Hi Barry. Yes. It’s Saturday. Oliver has a migraine. We’re entering an elevator. I have temporary deafness.” Felicity held the phone away from her face and shouted the rest of her message, “Go home and take your wife out to dinner!”

Wrapping her arms around his neck she placed a kiss to the top of his head before leaning against him, “I’m sorry I’ve been grumpy. Turns out my little sister is very _aggressive_ with due dates. I really just want to go to bed early.”

Oliver dipped a finger into the orange paint to his left and swiped it across her cheek. “But Felicity, you’re _dirty._ ”

Giggling, she closed her eyes and he could actually feel the stress leaving her body. Their connection certainly had its benefits.

“I know for a fact you like it when I’m dirty. And I know you’re tired- your forehead is doing that crinkle-thing.”

Oliver was sure his forehead did not do a “crinkly thing” and he wasn’t tired until his head hit the pillow. Staring at The Muse, not for art, but because he wanted to, because he could was the best feeling in the world. Her eyelids were already drooping but she bit her lip in hesitation before scooching closer.

“We’re not going to cuddle?”

Snorting, Oliver held his arm up for her to scooch under and she fell asleep before she had settled in.

“I love you.”

Maybe she was fixing the broken things inside of him. He was definitely sleeping better that was for sure-

Jerking awake, Oliver groaned, scrambling for his cell phone. Felicity was sleeping on top of his chest and when he saw Barry’s blurry face on his caller ID he wanted to strangle his agent.

“It’s on. Tomorrow! Live Art, featuring Oliver Queen!”

If his alarm clock didn’t say 12PM he’d be more upset. Barry’s enthusiasm apparently knew no bounds. Blinking his face awake, he looked to the blonde hairs tickling his chin and then at his phone. “I haven’t even asked her yet. And we have our final mediation this afternoon.”

“Well you’ve got. Well- 24 plus eight is 32! 32 hours to talk to her into it. I don’t think Felicity would like it if you were painting on someone else.”

“No she would not.” Oliver smiled wistfully, smoothing her hair down. “Text me the details. Today might be a long day.”


	7. write on me. color outside the lines.

She’s was late.

Of course she was late again. She’d submitted her project files to her sister on time, put in her PTO request for the mediation, and then got a flat tire. She’d never gotten a flat tire. She’d always had very nice, dependable, _leased_ cars that did not have problems because she didn’t drive them long enough to.  Apparently the deluxe package at the car service was not as deluxe as she was led to believe.

The car service was having phone problems, so she just called an uber. She should have taken Oliver’s offer to borrow from Thea’s closet. But no. She had to go home to change because seeing Cooper for the first time in years, smelling like Oliver, was probably a bad idea.

“Thank you for coming so quickly.” She practically panted, pulling the door shut behind her.

“Oh, that’s not a problem, Ms. Smoak.”

 Uber didn’t have her last name. She used a fake name whenever she was in public. She was too well known especially in Seattle to use her real name. But it was possible someone still knew who she was, right?

The car started moving and Felicity told herself she was being paranoid.  She used to run one of the largest tech companies in the area. Checking her phone, she frowned when she didn’t have any service.

“You’re probably wondering- how did he know my name? How did my car get a flat tire? Why aren’t we heading towards your mediator’s office? Why isn’t your three-thousand-dollar phone with a dedicated satellite connection working?”

Felicity figured this was the point in the movie where the creepy music would start playing.  Eyes darting around the backseat- he must have some sort of jammer in the car. Kicking her foot around under his seat, she hit metal.

Using the point of her heel she kicked it out from underneath her seat and it was not a signal jammer. If the tiny print on the side that said C4 was any indication she was going on a ride with this whackjob.

Keep him distracted. That was probably her best move. But her hands were shaking and there was a _bomb_ in the car. Was this what a panic attack felt like? “Wh-What do you want? Money?”

“You always were the brains of the operation Ms. Smoak, even here in this fake world. You and I have done this a few times and I’ve decided you win. You’re going home. When this world resets, there will be no _Felicity Smoak_. Then Kendra will be mine.”

Too bad Kendra was no longer here. But she wasn’t about to tell the crazy man from a comic book that. She valued her life. Whackjob then pulled a golden- wand? Staff? _Something_ out of his duffel bag and then waved it around muttering something.

She saw everything. The Arrow Cave. _Diggle_. How could she have forgotten Diggle? Kendra. Damien Darhk. _Vandal Savage._ The time remnant that came to warn them about a spell he was making in the future.

The spell Vandal cast to make Kendra his love slave. How she and Oliver both dove to protect her-

Her brain hurt. They’d done this loop twenty times and she had lifetimes of memories being ducked into her brain at once.

Focusing all of her energy into their connection, she did her best to tell Oliver goodbye but she wasn’t even sure he could get the message. It didn’t work that way and words like _metahumans_ and _Green Arrow_ swirled around in her head until she was jerked awake, adrenaline flooding her system. Okay that or the giant syringe Curtis plunged into her chest.

“I didn’t know what else to do, I’m sorry!” Curtis cried out, holding her face away from his shoes. “Please don’t puke on me.”

She couldn’t catch her breath and her head still hurt but Dinah and Rene were out of the chairs and bolting towards the exam table. Digg wasn’t around but Oliver looked so pale where they had him laid out.

“I had a dream. You weren’t there and you weren’t there but you were there.” Felicity groaned looking up at Curtis. “Please tell me John is not out there alone looking for Darhk and Savage.”

“Nope, he’s not alone. He is frantically scouring the streets with two people with giant ass wings when they woke up and he called Sara for backup.” Rene informed her, “We’ve been sitting here ‘protecting’ you. But now we know that C-Money can just shoot Oliver up with adrenaline-”

“No it’s not like that. Vandal let me go. Oliver’s still in the spell.”

Even in his sleep, Oliver looked so happy. She wondered if everything just reset- he woke up a new man in a new life without her. Or did he feel the overwhelming sense of loss? Would he paint again? Those memories were so raw and fresh inside of her. It only fueled her desire to end Vandal Savage (again).

“Curtis, we’re going to need a really big magnet.”

She might have done this trick already but she was confident it would work again.

**

Oliver did his best not to check the clock over the door but failed miserably. Felicity was late. Very late. He was worried and he did not like worrying. Their ‘connection’ was not even working. Unless she wasn’t thinking about anything despite his doodling in the margins while Iris spoke about payments.

They’d taken their cellphones on the way in but as Felicity was the main witness in the mediation it did not look good for them if she wasn’t there. Cooper was there with that stupid smirk on his face but they settled with the others, just leaving Oliver with Iris and Cooper’s Team.

“Well now that that’s out of the way, Mr. Queen, my client would like to countersue you for stealing the evidence used in this mediation.”

“That’s ridiculous!” Iris spat at his lawyer and Oliver wasn’t sure if he was supposed to hold her back or let her attack him. The man was apparently one of the best lawyers in LA and apparently even Iris knew the name Vandal Savage.

“Your husband is Mr. Queen’s agent. You being able to mediate this is what is ridiculous. I’ll be in touch Mr. Queen.”

There was only one person (besides Cooper) who knew he destroyed the paintings.

He had never officially asked her about their late night rendezvous, but he figured there were only so many blonde hackers who had a grudge against Cooper.

And she wasn’t at the mediation that they both agreed to go to this morning.

She either betrayed him (not likely) or something was seriously wrong. He drove to her house, she wasn’t there. No trace of her. He called Laurel and Sara and even Jana at work but they just sounded confused.

Things were not right.

He even tried googling “Felicity Smoak” but all that came up was an obituary for a woman who died in a car accident three years ago. And her mother- god, her mother was still alive. Bright and bubbly and so full of life, something he’d never really seen before. She ran the Smoak Foundation and lived a life in service of others who’d lost children.

Felicity was real. He could still smell her perfume and the place she put her glasses last. Even his freezer was different, he’d stopped buying anything with nuts in it, just in case she wanted to stop by. But there was his favorite ice cream and almond milk in the fridge.

Sinking to the floor, he leaned his head back and tried to stop the tears of frustration from falling. He’d gotten used to Felicity always being there, sharing her emotions and now it was just nothing but anger and despair.

“I don’t know what to do. Help me. Someone. Please.”

The knock on his door got his hopes up and he scrambled for the handle, “Felicity-”

The person on the other side of the door was not Felicity. Definitely taller and more muscular, and male. But he looked so familiar, in a leather jacket and a hip holster with a very real looking gun.

“My name is John Diggle and I’m here to take you home.”

Oliver looked warily at the outstretched hand, “I _am_ home.”

Diggle invited himself in to his apartment and looked around. Sure he was a little messy but Oliver liked to think that all of his organizational skills were used in his studio. Clothes on the floor, couch cushions messed up- the other man started laughing.

“This is some messed up shit, Oliver. Felicity said you were different but, _damn._ ” John pointed to the diploma on the wall next to him. “The real you is kind of a neat freak. And doesn’t really care for art but maybe I should tell you to keep it up when we get the hell out of this nightmare. I think it’d be good for some- things you’re dealing with.”

Yeah. Like running around in green leather attacking criminals was a normal reaction to life. He had only gotten the cliff notes version from Carter but the other Oliver, or his true self seemed to have a lot of problems.

“Where is Felicity?”

“She’s home. She’s pacing.”

Oliver closed his eyes in frustration, focusing on the blackness in front of him. There was nothing he could do to help her and he was stuck as the world around him was crumbling. Breathing through his nose he tried to think of the last thing he said to Felicity.

Maybe it was ‘Thanks’. Maybe it was ‘I’m sorry’. It was probably ‘pass the milk’.

Listening carefully, he could make out Felicity’s heels clicking against the cement floor of an immaculate apartment. She looked different, but still the same in all the ways that mattered.

_“I should be in there!”_

_“You were in there- For three whole weeks! I had to talk to Killer Frost about nutritional supplements and how to get an IV in- it was too traumatic. We need you. You’re the brains of the operation. And if Digg can’t get him out then we’re really fu-”_

John grabbed his shoulder, the simple action of his fingers digging into his flesh enough to startle him out of his connection. He knew the man. They were- friends?

“Rene. That’s his name.” Oliver whispered. He shouldn’t know that.  He supposed if this were a movie this would be the moment that all of his memories would come back to him in a dramatic flood but he wasn’t that lucky.

“Oliver there’s someone at the door.” Diggle pointed out, motioning towards the door where someone was pounding.

Scrambling, Oliver ran and slid towards the door. Tommy burst in, dressed to the nines, save for his trademark undone bow tie. The damn thing drove Laurel crazy but he liked to wear it like that anyway. Shit. The Live Art Event. He completely forgot in all the commotion.

“Dude, I finally agree to one of your weird art things at the insistence of your agent, by the way, and you’re not even ready. Laurel’s in the car, Thea’s already there with your parents and you know how Mo and Bobby like to drink when bored.”

Worried how he was going to explain Diggle’s presence to his best friend, Diggle took his cue and shook Tommy’s hand. “John Diggle. I’ll be working security for the event tonight, Mr. Merlyn. Will your parents be accompanying us this evening?”

“No, thankfully Daddy and Mommy are in Vienna at a conference. Thea called me yesterday and said she packed up your paints already because you’d spend three hours picking the right fucking shade of red. Now lettss goooo.”  

Oliver didn’t know what he was supposed to say but he followed after his best friend and towards his car. Digg grabbed the suitcase near the door, and Oliver pretended it was completely normal to think about other lives and psychic powers and Felicity being in another- what? Dimension? Plane of existence? What was the point if none of this was real?

“Ollie, please tell Tommy that I should be able to drive my own car to the event. And he should drive me back because I am pregnant with his child and I should be able to do anything I want- oh. Hi. New Person. Interesting.”

“Ms. L-Merlyn? Good evening. I’m working security for this event.” John introduced himself, seamlessly transitioning from friend to bodyguard. Apparently it was not his first time pretending to get along with people in an alternate reality.

Laurel shook his hand before correct him, “Laurel Lance. It-”

“-alliterates better.” Oliver finished for her, Tommy joining in at the end. It was a bit of a sore spot for Tommy but Laurel wore the pants and that was something the three of them had agreed on at a young age.

The drive to the art space wasn’t very long, Laurel talking about coming Assistant District Attorney with Diggle like it was the most fascinating thing the other man had ever heard. Maybe there was another Laurel and Tommy waiting for him.

Maybe there wasn’t.

It had been the three of them since before he could remember. But his memories were apparently wrong.

“I don’t think I can handle this.” Oliver whispered, mainly to himself.

“I got your back. It’s important you say goodbye. This happened once before believe it or not.” John smirked, “After you, _Mr. Queen.”_

Oliver had a feeling that he would be getting a lot of shit from John if and when they got back.


	8. art is not what i create. what i create is chaos.

_Felicity_

 

“Okay, we got a very _strong_ , _not_ big, magnet _gun_ and now what?” Curtis asked Felicity, looking at the device in his hands. The Arrow Cave had been a flurry of activity for the past day. Admittedly, she should have told Curtis the correct strength and size of the magnets but she’d been working on a computer chip in her mind for the past six months so she was a little rusty at the superhero business.

“We need to get that stupid magic stick away from Vandal Savage _again_ and then get Oliver out of that weirdo dream.”

“Shouldn’t we call someone- with you know- magic experience? Not that I don’t have the utmost faith in the brain trust but we’re down Digg and Oliver, we’re not exactly A team material.”

The elevator doors opened to her right and she was more than happy to see a familiar trench coat and blonde smoking a cigarette.

“I was in Los Angeles visiting a friend and then an angel fell from the sky to bring me here.” Constantine mock-swooned looking over his shoulder at Kendra.

“Great. Tell me you can mojo Oliver awake!” Felicity exclaimed, just a smidge too loudly. She was nervous. And worried. Very worried about all the horrible things artist Oliver was probably going through without her there. Oh yeah, and _real_ Oliver who should be green arrowing and around so she could yell at him for being so stupid for diving in front of Kendra while she was diving in front of Carter.

Their mutual hero moment would be wasted on a whole other lifetime that was not their own.

“-As I was telling the lovely hawk-people and Mr. Diggle, this spell is not Vandal’s normal cup of tea. I can sense a- tether for lack of better word. I don’t think you need to steal his staff. I severed the connection- now we just need to wake him up. So who wants to get our boy?”

Felicity’s right hand shot up on its own accord, to which she got six looks that clearly said ‘No’.

“I’ve already been in there! I know where everything is!” Felicity insisted. That didn’t seem to convince her friends.  
  
Curtis pushed up his glasses and moved closer to her side to whisper, “If you go back in there you might decide sunshine land is better and not want to come out. Besides we need you out here in case anything goes wrong in the real world.”

Felicity didn’t mean to nod. She didn’t mean to look up to Digg, her rock, her best friend, her fellow OTA member. It was dangerous. There was no Diggle in there. Oliver might not go with him or-

John was lying on the exam table before she could blink and Constantine was working his _magic_.

Five minutes.

Ten minutes.

A whole freaking hour and then Oliver shot up, clutching his chest. If she were thinking clearly she would comment on how movie-esque the whole situation was. But she was crying and kissing and she would be angry at him later. After more crying and more kissing.

John came back a minute later, panting. “We need to take care of Vandal Savage. Again. That was messed up, Felicity.”

 “You’re telling me. I had a sister.” Felicity muttered not able to look away from Oliver. She had more than a sister she had everything she ever wanted. Except for her mother, which reminded her to have a very long talk with her very soon.

Oliver whispered pressed his forehead against hers and she couldn’t make herself stop him, “We’ll deal with him tomorrow. Right now we’re all safe and that’s good enough for me.”

**

Felicity woke up the same way she had yesterday. Well, at least she thought so. She’d lived another 28 years since then, but she was confident that in the fake world she woke up the same. The left side of her body was half draped on top of Oliver, the other half was squished between the comforter and her pillow.

The important part was that Oliver was there and they were together.

“Stop wiggling.” Oliver’s voice was a whisper, as if that would allow them to go back to sleep.

“How do I always end up wedged between you and the entire comforter?” Felicity grumbled until Oliver took one arm (which was apparently _not_ the comforter) and rolled her on top of him, the covers lying neatly over them.

“Because you drool on my face and I have to move you so I don’t drown in my sleep.” Oliver mocked, smoothing her hair down and closing his eyes. Felicity ran her fingers down around his face and poked the soft flesh of his cheek.

“Everything felt so real. I mean you had _more_ tattoos which was hot. And everything, I mean _everything_ -”

Oliver opened one eye warily. “Felicity, you cannot use magic to make a VR reality.”

“But it would be _so useful!_ You can’t see me pouting, but I am pouting. Bad guys get all the cool stuff. _”_

Felicity pushed herself up and drank the water on Oliver’s side of the bed and couldn’t help the ‘yip’ that came out of her mouth when he stood up abruptly and kissed her.

Pulling away for air, Felicity tried to catch her breath. “I thought you said you wanted to sleep?”

“Want and need are two very different things right now, Felicity.”

His fingers crept to her back, and he pulled the camisole from her body before she could blink. She supposed she was the one sitting on his erection and it would really be a waste since Will was sleeping over at Rene’s-

One of the windows to their right creaked open and a knife was being thrown towards it. Felicity was less concerned with the person at the window than the _giant knife_ Oliver kept in their bedroom.

“Where the hell did that come from?! I sleep in this bed!”

Kendra pulled the knife out of the wall and retracted her wings. “Happy Wednesday to you guys too.”

Carter followed after her, chuckling. “I keep at least three knives nearby at all times.”

Oliver shoved her camisole back on her body and motioned to the side of the night stand where three knives, an arrow and a-

“IS THAT A GRENADE? Do you remember how long it took us to find this loft? With your insane kitchen requirement?”

“Carter and I spent all day tracking down Vandal. He’s in the penthouse on the other side of this building. We were hoping to get some backup.”

“Of course.” Oliver lifted her off his lap and went for his old costume in the back of their closet.

“Um, we actually meant from Felicity?” Carter coughed, “No offense, Brother.”

Felicity stuck her tongue out at Oliver and went to get her tablet. All and all, it was pretty easy. Vandal was too wrapped up in his spell to notice she used her mag gun to get the staff away from his creepy altar and Carter slit his throat with the handy dandy dagger.

His body evaporated and hopefully he wouldn’t be bothering them again- “Is this a doll made out of Kendra’s hair? Ick ick ick.” Felicity dropped the doll and vowed never to step foot on this side of the building again.

Walking back to her safe, _unmagica_ l side of the building she stopped abruptly seeing Zoe and Will outside their door. It was so cute, they were friends and they were friends with her dad and- SHE WAS KISSING WILL?

Ducking back behind the corner in the hallway, she wondered if she should stay there forever when Zoe walked by, heading towards the elevator.

“Hi, Mrs. Queen.”

“Zoe, you can call me Felicity. Mrs. Queen makes me sound old.” Felicity was suddenly struck with the vision of Moira she saw in the fake world, looking very regal with slightly more gray hair.

“Okay Felicity. Bye!”

Felicity headed back to the apartment, where Will was still standing outside the door, fingers on his lips.

“You okay, Kiddo?”

“I think so.”

Holding the door open for him, he ran upstairs to his room.

The real-world was definitely more interesting than the fake one.

***

Epilogue- One Year Later

_Oliver_

Shoving his hands into his pockets, Oliver wished he’d brought a thicker coat but it was winter in Star City and he would have to make do. Felicity was hungry. He wasn’t sure if that was a projection of the dream or alternate reality or whatever the hell Vandal did to them but he knew it.

Unfortunately, the roads were horrible and he was walking six blocks to pick his wife up food that was literally right across from the Smoak Tech building was his burden. Thinking about Felicity was a distraction on a good day but on a slippery day, not even his years of training could prepare him for black ice. Mentally praying no one saw his epic head over feet incident, he opened his eyes to see a tiny blonde boy peering down at him.

“Mayor Queen? Are you alright?”

“Yeah, buddy, I’m great. Gravity happens.” The boy dropped the things he was holding to help him up and beamed proudly at him.

“I saved the mayor, just like the Green Arrow!”

For good measure, the boy brushed some snow off his pants and gave him a thumbs up. He then picked up the thing he’d dropped, a portfolio and re shouldered his backpack. Oliver didn’t mean to stare but it was apparently obvious.

“Do you paint, Mayor Queen?”

“I used to.” Oliver guessed that was the closest thing to the truth. That seemed to make the kid happy.

“STAR Art Center has a class tonight. You should come. It’s ‘all ages’ but it’s mainly kids. I gotta go bye! Mr. Mayor!”

The kid glided across the black ice patch and headed toward the city bus stop down the block.  He had apparently stopped at the art store next to the Thai food place.  Curious, Oliver stepped inside the shop, which was probably breaking five fire codes. Paint was everywhere, on the floor, on the price tags someone had labelled different sized bins.

Felicity asked him if he still remembered anything and he shrugged it off but he remembered the way paint smelled when it was just out of the tube or how your hands felt when they were covered in oil crayon.

“Felix if your little butt is not on that bus right now I will seriously ground you forever-”

“Not Felix. Sorry. He made the bus, I think.”

“Are you looking into adding to your collection?”

Confused, Oliver tried to gauge the woman’s comment but she led him over to the cash register. “Your wife comes in and drops at least a couple grand each month. Said it was her philanthropic duty to support the arts. She also hooked us up to- whatsthehoosit- SmoakNet so we can keep all of our files in the cloud. Also something about free electricity from the SmoakNet building and when we tried to name the place after her she laughed. So I did this instead.”

The woman lifted an old pickle jar from behind the counter: _Felicity Queen Tip Jar- All proceeds go to the Queen Foundation for Local Disaster Victims_. As much as Felicity insisted on putting the past behind them, she obviously still thought about it.

“I’ll stop in tomorrow.” Oliver promised glancing down at his phone and seeing a missed call from the Thai place. Grabbing his to go order, he made a mental note to check out the Art Class after work.

The day passed uneventfully and when he got to the STAR Art Center, Felicity was already there, biting her lower lip. She was hunched over a canvas glasses slipping down her nose. Taking a seat directly opposite from her, he grabbed the brush that was setup and his hand started moving on its own accord.

He didn’t know anything about art. But he did survive one of the best Art Schools in the country and by the time the teacher was thanking them for their creativity, he had a picture of Felicity hunched over her stool, her glasses reflecting the bowl of fruit they were supposed to be drawing.

“Oliver?”

“Felicity?” Oliver countered, turning his canvas around, “I still got it.”

“Me too.” Felicity smiled, turning her own piece of paper around. Instead of the bowl of fruit, she’d drawn a schematic for if the apple was a robot. Little screw holes, a power source and a little hole that was eaten by a worm. A hole that was perfectly straight and had a notch in the end-

Oliver chuckled at his wife. “Did you make a plastic explosive in the shape of an apple? That fits on an arrow?”

“Maybe.” She smiled, her left dimple rising up as if she were trying to wink at him.  She picked up her purses off the floor and walked over to where he was admiring her. “Hey did I ever tell you what that circuit board you drew was?”

“No, I thought you said it was for a computer.” Oliver responded. He took her paper from her and tucked it underneath his arm, grabbing her free hand with his own.

“Winn put it in a self-propelling stroller. I better start building it, we’ll need it sooner rather than later.” Felicity tried to brush the comment off but Oliver wasn’t going to let her. Spinning her around, he dropped everything on the floor including their Untitled Masterpieces.

“Oliver Jonas Queen! I built you that laptop from scratch I can’t believe you’d just throw in on the ground like that-”

He didn’t care about the laptop in his briefcase or the painting he just finished. He had Felicity and that was all that really mattered to him anyway. “-I love you. If we weren’t married already I’d ask you to marry me again. And I love our baby. I’m so happy.”

Felicity craned her neck to look at her stomach, “Well that went better than we thought. Now we just need to keep being a good little baby and not make Mommy want to puke while we celebrate tonight. The baby wants Thai food. Again.”

Oliver would give both of them Thai food for the rest of his life.

And 18 years later when his little girl wants to go to Art School, the three of them arguing over tuition and business school and how they can’t possibly understand art, he’ll tell her about when he went to RISD like it was yesterday.

**THE END**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you everyone for reading. <3

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you again to Emmy and Deb for all their hard work. Also I know the tenses are not great sometimes but I LIKE IT SO THERE! :)


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